COPENHAGEN I

NTERNATI
ONALSCHOOL

LABYRI
NTH 2015

VOLUME33

L
a
b
y
r
i
n
t
h

Labyrinth
33nd Edition
2014-2015
Copenhagen International School
Journal of the Arts

All rights of reproduction and copyright are reserved and the sole property of the
COPENHAGEN INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL, Copenhagen, Denmark. This book
may not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying without expressed permission from CIS.
COPENHAGEN INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL MMXV

Labyrinth 2015

Dear Reader,
WELCOME TO THE thirty-third edition of
Labyrinth, the Arts Journal of Copenhagen
International School.
33, of course, is the number of
innings played in the longest baseball
game in history (a 1981 minor league game
between the Rochester Red Wings and the
Pawtucket Red Sox in Pawtucket, Rhode
Island). So 33 innings is a lot of baseball,
but Labyrinth is as young and fresh as ever,
as you are about to discover.
The baseball factoid is there mainly
to please a certain Mr. C, so a quick word
on the C, then.
The incredible talent of the Visual
Artists featured in these pages, and on the
walls of our school, is really all the
evidence you need of how immense his
contribution to Copenhagen International
School has been over the years. Bob, we
will miss you, but you will of course
always be an integral part of this
publication.
But, dear reader, find a comfy chair
and enjoy the amazing work of the
talented CIS students. And dont forget to
bring some form of device that will allow
you to enjoy the Performing Arts sections
on the website.
We would like to thank the PTA for
their generous support of the prizes,
Without your support Labyrinth would not
be Labyrinth.
All the best,
On behalf of the Labyrinth Staff,
Rebecca Lindroos, Gora Lizaso & Daniel
Sarstedt
Labyrinth Advisors

Labyrinth Staff 2014-15:

Sophie Achiam
Mats Brokvam
Daria Drenker
Sydney Evans
Sofie Ferris
Luchen Tian

CONTENTS
Black & White Art
Visual Arts Intro
Colour Art
Digital Art
Colour Photography
3D Art
Graphic Art
Doodles
Fiction
Poetry
Black &White Photography
Non-Fiction
Awful

3
10
11
21
25
29
34
38
41
67
92
97
112

Cover Art by Sophie Achiam

MORE LITERATURE, VISUAL

ARTWORK AND PERFORMING
ARTS ON WWW.CIS.DK/Labyrinth

BLACK & WHITE ART

First Prize
Darkside, Kristhy Bartels

BLACK & WHITE ART

Second Prize
Nude Study, Sophie Achiam








4

BLACK & WHITE ART

Third Prize
Chic Night, Iris ten Have

BLACK & WHITE ART

Honourable Mention
Audiris, Rebecca Chivers

Honourable Mention
Look at me, Maria Jarlbk

BLACK & WHITE ART

GALLERY
Alejandro Montoya, Rebecca Chivers, Iris ten Have, Lrke Andreasen, Julie Woldbye-Lyng, Karolina
Zydelyte, Maria Jarlbk, Pratya Arora, Saga Sjstedt, Tanja Jensen

BLACK & WHITE ART

BLACK & WHITE ART


10

COLOUR ART

First Prize
Pippi Longstocking, Freya Lindroos

Third Prize
Moment of suspension, Iris ten Have

Second Prize
Too many colours, Rebecca Chivers

11

COLOUR ART

Honourable Mention
Katrine Blum

Honourable Mention
Stephanie Trinca

COLOUR ART GALLERY

Freya Lindroos, Lrke Andreasen, Alexa Forsyth, Chris Nielsen, Elise Copas, Iris ten Have, Jonatan
Chen-Zion, Josephina Jrgensen, Julie Woldbye-Lyng, Kristhy Bartels, Maria Jarlbk, Mariam Hawath,
Oone Tiirakari, Pratya Arora, Rececca Chivers, Saga Sjstedt, Sophie Achiam, Tanja Jensen

12

COLOUR ART

13

COLOUR ART

14

COLOUR ART

15

COLOUR ART

16

COLOUR ART

17

COLOUR ART

18

COLOUR ART

19

COLOUR ART

20

DIGITAL ART

First Prize
Perplexity, Saga Sjstedt

Second Prize
The Scene, Chris Nielsen

Third Prize
Reflections, Lrke Andreasen

21

DIGITAL ART

Honourable Mention
Age Lines, Freya Lindroos
Honourable Mention
Twins, Iris ten Have

DIGITAL ART GALLERY

Saga Sjstedt, Alex Benes, Chris Nielsen, Julie Woldbye-Lyng, Kristhy Bartels, Maria Jarlbk, Sophie Achiam

22

DIGITAL ART

23

DIGITAL ART

24

COLOUR PHOTOGRAPHY

First Prize
Je Ne Suis Pas Un Femme Maison!!, Sophie Achiam

25

COLOUR PHOTOGRAPHY

Second Prize
Artbikebolt, Freya Lindroos

Third Prize
Broken Window, Chris Nielsen

Honourable Mention
Icicle, Nikola

Honourable Mention
Stone&Water, Tanja Jensen

26

COLOUR PHOTOGRAPHY
GALLERY
Chris Nilsen, Iris ten Have, Rebecca Chivers, Maria Jarlbk, Maya Hertz, Nikola, Prtaya Arora, Sophia
Greenblat, Sophie Achiam, Teo Della Torre

27

COLOUR PHOTOGRAPHY

28

3D ART

First Prize
Cell, Sophie Achiam

Second Prize
Ancient Greco-Nuclear,
Mariam Hawath

Third Prize
Timeless, Julie Woldbye-Lyng

29

3D ART

Honourable Mention
Watching_U,
Julie Woldbye-Lyng

Honourable Mention
A Bottle of Beauty,
Freya Lindroos

3D ART GALLERY
Alexa Forsyth, Emma Jepsen, Freya Lindroos, Iris ten Have, Katrine Blum, Lrke Andreasen,
Mariam Hawath, Pratya Arora, Saga Sjstedt, Sophie Achiam, Sophie Grisdale, Stephanie Trinca,
Tanja Jensen

30

3D ART

31

3D ART

32

3D ART

33

GRAPHIC ART

First Prize
Sophie Achiam
34

GRAPHIC ART

Honourable Mention
Helping Hands, Maria Jarlbk

Second Prize
African Rhyme, Tanja Jensen

Third Prize
Touch My Face, Iris ten have

35

GRAPHIC ART
GRAPHIC ART GALLERY
Rebecca Chivers, Iris ten Have, Julie Woldbye-Lyng, Maria Jarlbk, Saga Sjstedt, Tanja Jensen, Lrke
Andreasen, Ralitsa Markova, Sophie Achiam, Sophie Grisdale

36

GRAPHIC ART

37

DOODLES

First Prize
Amanda Wilson

Second Prize
Luisa Dickson

38

DOODLES

Third Prize
Pratya Arora

Honourable Mention
Iris ten Have

39

DOODLES
GALLERY
Amanda Wilson, Luisa Dickson, Pratya Arora

40

Labyrinth

FICTION

41

FICTION
The fiction section was marvellous this year.
All works received were brilliant concoctions
of young minds, some with wild
imaginations and others with inspiring
voices. The chosen winners (despite the close
ties) spun intricate and well-rounded stories,
mind-grabbing and deep, showing mastery
in their writing skills. As there were so many
great pieces, we have given several
Honorable Mentions. We thank everyone
who submitted, and congratulate you on
your hard work!"

Oh, she thought, defeatedly, Ill never

get over that.
But as she stared at it, the crack began to
widen. Panic overtook the girl, and a feeling
of helplessness overwhelmed her. The wider
the crack became, the more the panic rose
inside of her. She wanted to stop the crack which had now grown significantly in size from widening, but she could not. The girl
turned away in despair as her mind started
to race. The thoughts flooded her mind, and
she felt as though she were drowning.
As she lay there, next to the crack,
people passed by. Not many of them offered
any help. Some sympathised with the girl,
but were in far too much of a hurry to get
somewhere very important to be able to help
her (though where this was exactly, they
were not quite sure). Some noticed her, but
did not understand what the problem was,
and were far too busy to allow themselves to
try and find out (though what they were so
busy with was not always quite clear to
them). Still others passed by, but most of
them did not even see her. They were far too
wrapped up in their own, terribly important
affairs to notice her (though what these
happened to be was not quite apparent to
the people themselves, either). However, a
few people did take it upon themselves to
talk to the girl.
Whats the matter? asked one,
matter-of-factly. Why cant you just do it?
Its so simple, interjected another,
all you have to do is jump over that little
crack! The girl tried to explain, but there
was no use, for the next person quickly
interrupted her.
If you really wanted to, they
exclaimed, you would have been able to do
it by now! The passers-by shook their heads
in frustration, and threw their hands up in
defeat.
Well, we certainly cant help you,
sighed all three, adding, youre beyond
reach. The girl turned away and stared
miserably at the gaping hole that now lay in
front of her.

The Labyrinth Team

First Prize
The Girl Who Didnt Actually Fall
Down a Hole but Somehow Still
Couldnt Get Out of One
THE GIRL SAT, staring at a tiny crack in the
ground in front of her.

42

There she sat, for quite some time,

watching the hole widen, until she could no
longer see the other side.

and though she hides it with forced smiles to

blank faces she feels it like blood running
down her neck. She wants to understand.

Maria hrgaard

She never will. The surreal stretch of

forever under her feet and the reign of her
own consciousness fighting to cage and
shackle her, forcing her to wander the
endlessness, confused and lost and trapped
with the sluggish instincts of human nature.
She's the wind in the rain and the
sheepish giggle of a child, the song you hear
but can never remember, the eyes that watch
you from the shadows. Shes a piece and a
link to something greater than her and
beyond the understanding of all, the key to a
place and a time that cannot be if she is not.
Every star that ever was, and none of it
would
be
real
if
she
wasnt.

Second Prize

She falls through black holes and

feels herself ripped apart and then healed by
the gravity of a gaseous giant, her screams
resounding in every corner of every realm in
every world, becoming the sound below the
silence. She dies and lives and bleeds and
cries, laughs and loves and dances and lies.
The clocks tick in her head and she cant get
them to stop, she cant slow herself down or
satisfy her hunger, quench her thirst or close
her
mouth.

Parallax
SHE CAN'T SLEEP, and she doesn't think
she'll ever sleep again. She's falling,
tumbling headfirst, worlds blurred in front
of her eyes like streaks of watercolor on
white canvas. She smiles. Lights of faded
galaxies shine in her pupils and she takes the
careful step into the middle of the wide
stretch of road. They can go ahead and hit
her, it's not like she knows who she is
anyway.

No one knows her, and no one sees

her - she hides in the dimension of the
shattered, the payment for heartbreak and
the risk to save valuable lives. The echo of
what it means to lose everything and gain
nothing, to feel true compassion and love in
the depths of her being, to trust one she
couldnt before.
Everything
about
her
is
a
contradiction. She should have been blasted
into oblivion by the amount of data and
power that was crammed into her mortal
body, her mind blown to shards and her soul
disintegrated. Sometimes she wishes that
had happened, when she floats alone in the
frayed and snapped threads that used to be
her life. Alone in the place where different

She hates it. The way things are. She

subsists on a level of isolation and a cosmos
of infinity, of forgotten memories and lost
dreams. Omnipresent, she roams freely with
her hands behind her back, never knowing
where she is or how she got there but she
blends like everyone else. Sometimes she's a
little girl with rosy cheeks and undeniable
curiosity, and other times a woman with a
broken spirit and the pull of time in her
chest. Shes a mirror and a shield, a ray of
light and a loved one dead in your arms, a
horrible monster and the holiest angel.
She doesn't know why. It eats and
scrapes at the back of her scrambled mind,

43

reasonings run together, a mess of smudged

reality. Shes an inter-dimensional ghost,
merged yet separate with the horizon of the
material world.
But something keeps her holding on,
something she cant place or name, the
shimmer of a precious metal or the melody
of a saintly chorus; she may never know.
She has many names, in different
tongues and telepathic waves. They blame
destiny and fault upon her; they thank her
and curse her and hate her and love her. She
is there to shelter us all, and shes only a
little bit of everything real and unreal,
irrational and logical, of imagination.
Shes just one of the infinite atoms
that pull it all together, but she wasnt meant
to be that way. She was never meant to hold
so much supremacy and so much weakness,
to crawl between breadths and plead for
forgiveness, salvation, someone, anyone that
would listen to her.
She doesnt remember her name or
who she used to be, or what valiant actions
she took to move from her reasonable place
in existence, the pieces of her history crushed
by the weight of the universe. It wasnt just
herself who so damned her: another,
someone dear, took desperate measures and
doomed her for all eternity.
She thinks about this, and she grows
weary, when instance slows and the
ceaseless night surrounds her. She cant
sleep, and she doesnt think shell ever sleep
again.

Third Prize
Opening Night
Twinkling lights illuminate the stage in a
bright wash. Jack from grade 7 stands, center
stage, in the midst of the lackadaisically
painted set, as Peter Pan. His leotard is too
tight, and its more turquoise than green, but
as the head of the drama department
exclaimed dejectedly only a few days before
opening night itll have to do!
Jack, who has seemingly forgotten his next
line, fiddles gingerly with his shirt and
searches the audience for a friendly face.
There is a sluggishness in the air; only a
select few parents arent aching to go home,
and the entire production team, including
the children, have been sick of Peter Pan for
weeks. Nevertheless, the show must go on.

Sydney Evans

Peter! Cries the young girl cast as Wendy,

clad in a white nightgown and haphazardly
curled hair, earnestly, as she enters stage
right in order to save Jack who looks on the
brink of tears. The young girl, who is trying
to conceal her nerves, pales in comparison

44

with the hues of the brightly colored set:

violet and coral flowers shabbily smeared on
by the primary school kids, a dazzling blue
sky hand-painted by the Art department,
and a gloomy pirate ship in which Captain
Hook resides, assembled with the help of the
woodshop teacher and plenty of YouTube
tutorials. All you need is some fairy dust,
then well never grow old!

with a thud. Finally someone has the sense

to attempt to lower the curtains (its about
time for heavens sake).
The last snapshot the audience is left with
before they are engulfed in darkness is this: a
stage light so big it has dented the floor,
lying beside a wrecked pirate ship under
which Wendy is flapping about, attempting
to free herself. Above them, Tinkerbelle is
soaring in all directions, her drama teacher
dangling below her, barely holding on,
whilst inexplicably, glitter continues to
sprinkle down on them all. In the midst of
this havoc stands Jack, so startled he has not
moved an inch. A dark patch spreading
quickly at the front of his crotch indicates he
has wet himself with terror. The curtain is
lowered, and the peculiar scene is enveloped
in red velvet.

The level of animation in the hall grows

discernibly as high-pitched whimsical notes
are played over the loud-speakers to declare
Tinkerbelles arrival. She enters in sequin
dress clutching a wicker basket of fairy dust,
high above the stage, balancing on a wooden
beam. This part of the production caused
quite a stir among the more reserved parents
and a battle between the PTA and the drama
department ensued: threats were made,
compromises were proposed, tears were
shed. Ultimately, it was permitted as long as
specific safety guidelines were followed.
Tinkerbelle glamorously showers the stage
with glitter (as glamorously as a child can
while strapped in a bulky harness), and the
audience lets out a collective sigh of awe.
Even Jack is able to stop himself sweating
and forces a smile. It is almost magical.

Mathilde Hjertholm Nielsen

Almost, but not quite. Just as things are

looking up, they begin to unravel
completely. Tinkerbelle misteps, distracted
by the reverence of her dazzling stunt. She
plummets to the ground, but the harness
keeps her from colliding with the ground, so
she ricochets back up and hits a light fixture,
dropping her fairy dust in the process. The
light crashes to the ground, as glitter rains
down on the stage. Several members of the
audience are shrieking, and various kids are
wailing. Tinkerbelle is flailing around
uncontrollably, sobbing. One of the drama
teachers rushes onto the stage and attempts
in vain to lower the crying child in the
harness onto the ground. In a last futile
attempt to do something useful, he leaps up
and grabs hold of her feet, but he hits the
vast wooden pirate ship in the process and
knocks it to the floor. It lands on Wendy

Honourable Mention
At The Centre of The Desk
Keith Dainard's chair had been patiently
waiting for his return. The newspaper
reporter's desk was neat as usual. Light came
from a table lamp in the corner. There were
grey files all in their respective places, just
the way he'd left them when he went out for
his Saturday walk with his wife. The cherry
colour of the desk top made their deliberate
positions strongly noticeable.

45

In front of him was a cork board that showed

him his busy schedule next week. Monday
and Tuesday would be spent finishing up his
reports on the high property prices. He had a
meeting with two reporters from Florida on
Wednesday and he was to spend the most
part of Thursday finding out more about the
proceedings at the State Bank. And who
could tell what Friday would hold? There
were always some unorganised reports to be
filed or some photographs to be categorised.

You are well aware of the tightening

financial situation here at our workplace.
The board of directors has decided that we
take action to solve this problem
immediately.
He knew it. He knew it had to be about the
loss in business for the otherwise flourishing
newspaper. These days, it was so important
that the shareholders be made happy. Losses
were never good for them even if they
weren't sustained for long. But this time, it
looked as if the board was right in making
these observations. The economy did not
look as if it was going to get any better soon.

It was not normal for him to look at his

schedule on a Saturday evening. He kept it
until Sunday night so that it would not
prevent him from enjoying his weekend. But
today, there was something at the centre of
the desk that was bothering him. It was a
letter, concealed in a clean white envelope,
that he had picked up from the mailbox
before leaving for his walk. He had been
reluctant to open it because he feared it
might hold bad news. It was not two months
ago that the Lehman Brothers had collapsed
and the newspaper was already making
losses. They had already discussed their
inability to retain the large number of
employees. There was no assurance that they
could go on comfortably for even half a year
without cutting down salaries.

As a result, we will be laying off around

40% of our employees over the next seven
weeks.
Keith was taken aback once again. He had
expected there to be a reduction in salary but
it gave him a shock to see that it was a major
bulk of employees that were to be laid off.
He began to wonder if his job was also in
danger. He had seen the worry about two
extra reporters that had been hired a few
months back. Now that they were serious
about removing some reporters, he began to
doubt that his position was secure. He
couldn't help but continue on to the next
line. He was just about to begin when the
door opened and his wife walked in.

As he now sat down on his chair, it groaned

softly. He picked up the envelope in his left
hand and his knife in his right. He slowly
sliced the the top as he always did when he
opened envelopes. The paper was smooth
and the letter slid out easily. Unfolding the
paper, he began to read:

"I'm making some tea for myself, darling,

shall I make a cup for you as well?"
"Er, yes. That would be nice," replied Keith
after some hesitation.

Dear Mr. Dainard,

"Why do you look worried? Is something
wrong?" his wife asked as she sat down on
the couch beside the window. Keith adjusted
his chair to face her.

Keith was taken aback. There was nothing

strange in the way that the letter was
addressed. But he still felt uncomfortable
reading his own name. He had secretly
hoped that the letter was addressed to
someone other than him. Nevertheless, he
continued reading:

"I was thinking about the delicate situation

at work. You know, with the recession and
stuff."

46

"Have you been told anything yet?" inquired

his wife. Keith stared out the window. The
dark silhouette of the house looked a bit
watery in the reflection on the car. It was as
if the whole thing were about to crumble.
And the car itself looked much less grand
than when he had bought it. The dark green
Cadillac was only a month old, and the
mortgage would not be paid until the
summer of 2010. He looked back at his wife.
The loving face was waiting patiently for an
answer.

He finally gathered up enough courage to

read the last lines of the letter:
I would like to discuss the situation with
you straight away. I suggest you meet me
at 10 a.m. on Monday.
Yours sincerely,
Aaron Smith
The fine print faded away as Keith's eyes lost
focus. His mind became completely blank for
a few seconds. He was still looking at the
letter but he couldn't read what was on it.
The table lamp's glow was now yellowishwhite. The light reflected off the cork board
and gave a brownish tint to whatever he
saw.

"Nothing" responded Keith.

"Then I'm sure we'll be fine." And she kissed
him and walked out of the room. Keith
stared in her direction for a minute before
his attention was brought back to the letter.

Keith let his thoughts wander away with

him. There was so much he had
accomplished in the last few years. It was
hard to let go. He had expected to continue
working for this company until the end of
his career. He might even have become
editor-in-chief if he worked hard. But all this
was lost tonight. He would no longer be
going to work at the same time every
morning. He wouldn't be eating his lunch in
his comfortable spot anymore. He felt like
his whole life was about to change. And the
change was certainly going to be for the
worse.

Having discussed with the Vice President

the importance of your role, we have been
forced to arrive at this conclusion.
Keith now felt little proud of himself. As far
as he could remember, his boss never
discussed the importance of his role with
anyone. That the Vice President should be
discussing him didn't mean well. But at least
it meant that a rational decision would be
taken; that his position would be carefully
looked over; that there was a chance that
they would decide to keep him.
Keith's eyes were drawn to the wall opposite
the window. He turned and looked at the
beautifully framed newspaper snippets that
hung from the wall. His most prized works
were there, ranging from the report that had
taken him a month to complete to the article
about the new school that he had remained
awake all night for so that he could complete
and publish it in the morning newspaper.
They brought back memories of the
hardships he had endured during the start of
his career. All the work had been done with
much care and attention, as he usually did
whenever he was given work.

"Come on in, I've finished the tea," Keith

heard his wife call. As his eyes regained
focus, he saw the white sheet of paper lying
sharp against the cherry wood of the desk.
He slowly got up from his chair and walked
cautiously out of the room.
Rachit Kumar

47

was miffed that mine wasnt the highest

Citrine had somehow received purple.
Howd you get that, you i7? Peridot stared
suspiciously. Her Food Gel was an ordinary
yellow shed clearly had trouble on the
courses yesterday. We had been testing the
Repulsiaffixement suits. They would stick to
an object upon touching it, then hurtle you
off it at an alarming speed if you moved in
the opposite direction to the affixment.
Yesterdays training involved traversing a
course of airborne platforms above a base of
Temporarily Confined Wasps.
I figured out how to use the suit to walk
across the ceiling. Got it on the first try and
everything
It required significant nimbleness, which
heavy-framed Peridot severely lacked. We
giggled guiltlessly at her, knowing full well
that we would be the yellow-gelled ones
tomorrow, while she would have at least red
gel following todays defenestration.
Social Interaction Time complete. AntiMalnutrion Treatment complete. Thank you
for choosing Chatoyant Laboratories. Your
table will be Cleared in 5, 4, 3, 2
We leapt away from the table as it, along
with all the plates on it, disintegrates in a
cloud of white dust.
Well. Time to help the World Outside
then Peridot announced with a grin,
ready to prance off and happily do her part
for society.
Oh, shut down Citrine told her gently.
We walked out of dining hall and into the
bright golden hallway towards our
individual courses. Peridot just began to turn
towards the door of her training room when
an alarming rumbling sound rolled up from
beneath the floor. We all paused, and the
hallway began to shake. It started as a slow
vibration, building up until the panels were
wobbling on the walls. Our eyes glazed over
as our automataides froze us in our spots.
The shaking got worse until an entire golden
floor tile dislodged and, still-motionless,
Peridot plummeted into the dark void that
opened up. Eventually the quake quieted
down and the automataides retracted their
claws. Immediately, the panels around us

Honourable Mention
Disposable
Thank you for choosing Chatoyant
Laboratories as your place of residence,
rang out over the intercom for the third time
that morning as we shuffled through the line
in the dining hall to receive breakfast. Today
the machine dispensed me Food Gel that
was a lovely pastel pink, the color of the hair
of our overseeing officers. Despite myself, I
was pleased. Yesterdays training must have
been exceptional for me to receive a Gel
three ranks above me. As I sat down with
Training Group 352 at one of the yellow
tables; our automataides froze and turned to
us. They extended their small robotic paws,
stuck the USB claws out and inserted them
into the slots into our legs.
My vision filled with yellow, and the smooth
voice of Pearl rang through my mind.
Today you will be working on our new
Defenestration plates to ensure that they are
optimized for the World Outside. Thank you for
choosing Chatoyant Laboratories.
I DIDNT CHoose anything you piece of shit!
My voice got softer and died out throughout
the sentence as the automataide stuck me
with the claws again and turned down my
volume. Its cat-like little yellow eyes stared
into me, ensuring I was calm. The little LEDs
flashed green, and the claws retracted.
Chartreuse glared at me from across the
table.
How many times are you gonna do that,
Aureolin? she asked. I rolled my eyes in
response. We scooped our Food Gels, and I

48

crept quietly to their previous positions, and

the hole in the floor near Peridots training
room closed over, as if it had never existed.
Its a shame shes gone. She would have
made a rather substantial contribution to the
World Outside today. I remarked.
Yeah. I wonder who theyll send to replace
her. Citrine replied.
We both continued the few steps to our
doors and walked in. The moment the door
shut behind me my face crinkled. We had
started this week with 8 group members and
now we were down to 3. Replenishments
would not be in until next week. I suppose
all of this destruction was rather beneficial to
the world outside. Our planet was
overloaded with us as it is, leaving many
stuck in these facilities. Still, thinking of
Peridot gave me an odd feeling way down in
my gut. Every time someone was removed,
something stirred in me; something made
me feel as though this wasnt quite how
things were meant toDo you need assistance beginning the
course? The World Outside needs your
support, meowed the little robot at my feet.
I uncrinkled my brow and walked towards
the centre of the buttercup-colored chamber.
Buttercup. The word made me get the odd
feeling again. Was there someone I had
known ca-

incredibly thankful the plate wasnt

completely accurate, as the mesh was
significantly nicer to be smashed against
than the window would have been. I
dropped the 15 m to the floor like a frozen
military bot, saved from broken bones by a
mesh landing pad.
Thank you for your contribution to the
World Outside. Our defenestration plate is
now 0.00001% more accurate.
Getting up, I was already dizzy. This was
going to be a difficult session. I staggered
towards the plate again, but as I was flung
into the air again, the rumbling started in the
ground. As I dropped, the facility was
shaking so hard I missed the landing pad.
My vision blacked out for a few seconds and
I was being tossed about like an electric
impulse in a complicated circuit board. I
couldnt feel my left leg at all. My left wrist
seemed oddly numb. All that existed was
shaking shaking shaking shaking. Even
without my automataides influence, I was
frozen. It was impossible to think while I
was bounced about by the chaotic moving
plates.
My vision slowly returned, the shaking
subsided. This time, however, the facility
didnt rearrange itself as usual. It just
remained in its forlorn state. I looked for my
little robot for assistance, getting the sinking
feeling again when I caught sight of a small
robotic paw sticking out from under a large
yellow panel. The cold voice of Pearl rang
out over the speakers.
Thank you for your contributions to the
World Outside. Remain where you are for
Emergency Accelerated Apoptosis.
The sinking feeling intensified, and I knew I
had somehow to get away from this area.
Trying to stand proved futile, as my left side
was completely numb. The only sort of
movement I could even attempt was a slow
crawl, but the rapidly approaching sound of
the Apoptosis machine informed me that
this would not be nearly enough. In
desperation, I dragged myself to the centre
plate and hoped against hope that I would
be successfully defenestrated. I was flung
backwards to the window just as a small

Aureolin, you are being unresponsive. Shall

I submit you for a health examination? the
automataide asked again, its mechanic
pupils widening in concern.
No, Im fine I replied. What had I been
thinking about?
I decided to just go along and figure out
what I was meant to do here before someone
summoned an officer to examine me.
The room I was in wasnt very large, but it
was very tall. There were windows near the
ceiling on each side, the glass too cloudy to
see through. The walls around them were
soft mesh. I walked further towards the
centre, and any queries I may have had
about this room were answered as the panel
I stepped on sprung upwards, hurtling me
towards one of the windows. I was

49

hovering machine buzzed into the room

below, carrying a very large needle. The
glass behind me cracked as I smashed
through it, falling into another chamber. This
chamber was a polar opposite to the first
one. It was tiny, cramped, and dark black. I
dragged myself the few feet to the wall, but
found myself stuck. The whirring of the
needle machine approached, and the sharp
point descended towards my neck.
Emergency
Accelerated
Apoptosis
deploying. Thank you for your contribution
to the World Outside.

embarrassing thing he had said today, and it

was barely 10 in the morning.
The chair in front of us was rocking
slightly back and forth in jagged motions,
and I arched my neck to see what was going
on as I was hearing proud bursts of laughter
from that direction. I caught a glimpse of a
six-pack of beer sticking out of a sleek
backpack and I slumped back down into my
seat, realizing that this was going to be a
long day for me. I had been hesitant to agree
to this trip at first. This was our first trip as a
family since Mom and Dad split up, and it
had been even more awkward than I had
expected so far. I would almost rather have
them accept that our whole family was
divided now, rather than insist that we try
to make this work. I felt guilty leaving
Michael behind to deal with it all on his own,
but it was my turn to get what I wanted for
once. I chose Fordham on the east coast over
Oregon State because I wanted to get farther
away from my family, not because I wanted
to live somewhere new. I didnt tell any of
them this of course.
We had all gone out to dinner the
night before, and I could tell Mom had put in
an effort to look good. It wasnt any more or
less than what she usually would do for a
nice dinner, but it was a different kind of
effort she had put in this time. She knew she
looked good when she wore her hair that
way. She knew exactly how it made certain
wisps of hair frame her face and bring
attention
to
her
otherwise
hidden
cheekbones. She had done this a million
times and she probably would another
million times. An image of my mom forty
years older entered my head. Her skin was
sagging anywhere it possibly could, and her
hand shook as she lifted it slowly,
purposefully sweeping a small brush with
pink powder across the side of her face. I
imagined her looking in the mirror doing
this everyday for the rest of her life and I felt
sad for her.
Using his ski pole to drop snow off
branches of trees we passed by, Michael
hummed a song I didnt recognize. I was
mad at him, and also at Mom and Dad. I

Karolina Zydelyte

Honourable Mention
Ski Trip
We shuffled in our ski boots and
dragged ourselves forward with our poles
stuck in ice. I heard the chair swing around
the turn and saw out of the corner of my eye
how it caught air for a moment where it
seemed unconnected from the rest of the
chairlift, and I held my breath. We were
swept off the ground in one mechanical pull
and immediately our weighted down feet
swayed back and forth in one uniform
motion.
Michael was already striking up a
conversation with the strangers next to us,
asking them if they knew where there was a
Taco Bell in Denver because we were going
there later; and I kicked him with my boot
because that was only the second most

50

wasnt sure why at first, but now I knew I

was mad at them for acting like nothing was
wrong when everything was so wrong. I
yanked my earphones out and glared at
Michael, because his loud singing was
becoming unbearable to me, and most likely
to the strangers next to us too. He looked at
me for a second, but didnt seem to
understand what my expression meant
because he kept humming and whacking
branches. He looked away from his ski pole
to say something to me, immediately losing
track of what his extended arm might cause
his ski pole to hit. I heard a scraping sound
and saw Michaels pole hit a large tree trunk.
Michaels face sunk as his hand involuntarily
let go of the pole. He turned his body and
looked over the edge of his seat, watching
the pole fall farther and farther away from
him. He looked up at me again, his eyes
asking me for a solution to what had just
happened, but this time I just shook my head
and put my earphones back in.

thought, as she continued her trek. She

focused intensely on the road ahead, the
faint glow in the distance serving as her
beacon. With it, she would survive the night.
Her guiding light came in the form of an old
tavern carved out of the mountainside, the
carved scrawl above the door reading The
Frostbitten
Ogre.
Viviennes
weight
collapsed against the gnarled oak as she
swung it open, the warmth of a fire slowly
washing over her. A faint sigh escaped past
her lips as she welcomed the feeling.
Contrary to popular belief, the cold was no
friend of hers.
Vivienne took her seat at an empty table near
the door, eyes darting cautiously around the
room before falling upon several of the
different patrons. To her left sat an elf, her
posture straight, with slender fingers
entwined around the spine of a book. Her
flushed, rosy skin glowed in the warm light
of the hearth, wide emerald eyes flickering
towards Viviennes direction with every flip
of a page. A Mage, perhaps, Vivienne
thought, her eyes trailing down the intricate
tailoring that lined her crimson robes. If so,
a Mage very far from home.

Maya Hertz

A few tables down, a couple of Goblins

bickered like hungry crows. Their feet
dangled a few inches off the ground, legs
swinging irritably as their squabble
intensified over the plans spread out in front
of them. Vivienne always harboured a bitter
distaste for Goblins. Their conniving, greedy
nature mixed with a good bout of
recklessness
made
them
far
from
trustworthy, not that their tacky appearance
helped much either. Prints, piercings - this
group had it all, not to mention the diamond
tipped cane resting at the end of the table.

Honourable Mention
The Tavern
The snow came down in sheets, the harsh
winds sending a dull burn teeming across
Viviennes skin, frost clinging to her tattered
cloak that thrashed about wildly in the dark.
Night had fallen quickly that day, a bitter
wind blowing in as soon as the sun touched
the northern peaks. A bad omen, Vivienne

Minorly irritated, Viviennes attention

shifted towards the far side of the room
where a lone Dwarf sat polishing his musket.
He was draped in animal skins, no doubt the
trophies of his own conquests on the tundra.
His coppery beard was woven into three fine

51

braids, the longest tip reaching past his

navel. A scar marred his left eye, his brow
slightly furrowed as his gaze landed upon
Vivienne.

could feel the air teeming with promises of

spilled blood. Finally, the Orc paused. He
stood mere inches from Viviennes table, the
tavern rendered completely silent albeit the
sound of the brutes heavy breathing.
Without a word his hand snapped at
Vivienne's hood, drawing back the cloth and
revealing her face. I knew it, the Orc
rumbled, his voice thick with loathing. A
corpse.

The final patron was an Orc, his back turned

towards Vivienne as he chatted with the
human barkeeper. He was decked out in
heavy plated armour, iron and various skulls
mounted on his shoulderguards to serve as
grisly trophies from battle. Several races
were among the vanquished: elves, gnomes,
humans. A warlord, Vivienne mused, eyes
continuing to scan over the twisted metal.

Vivienne glared back with equal detestation,

her sucken, glassy eyes unmoving from the
Orcs beady red ones. Her teeth were
clenched, the flesh from the lower half of her
jaw non existent, revealing a row of rotten
ivories. Her thin, straw-colored hair
remained tied in a messy bun on her head, a
few strands sticking to her sickly flesh.
Corpse, abomination, forsaken, all the
titles meaning all the same. Vivienne was not
one of the living and was cursed for it.

Suddenly the Orcs head perked up, his

thick, muscled neck arching to the side to
reveal his tusks, his ivy skin faded and
hardened against his features. His nostrils
flared as he snorted in a deep breath, lower
lip curling in disgust as he threw his hands
off the bar, startling the human. Vivienne
tensed, leaning further in her seat in an
attempt to shroud her face within her cloak.
The Orc slowly turned to face her direction,
a gauntleted hand reaching for something
resting against the bar. The gleam of it
caught Vivienne's eye, causing her breath to
cling to her throat. An axe.

A race solely created by dabbling in dark

magics, the Undead were fOrced to live as
outcasts or slaves to their necromancer
masters. Free will meant nothing to the
church, to the governments, once an Undead
was unshackled from their master they were
seen as no more than monsters, a plague
amongst the living.

The weapon was by far the most fiendish

Viviennes eyes had ever seen. Twin blades
stemmed out from its gnarled helve, each
curved viciously into intricate wings, their
edges sharp and gleaming. She could
imagine the Orc meticulously filing the
blades after each kill, hot sparks leaping
from the metal and searing his unyielding
flesh. An image of an Orcish skull was
depicted in the center of the axe, adding to
the taboo of the weapons nature. Vivienne
snorted. A veteran of war, yes, but no hero.

The Orc sneered down at Vivienne, his lips

twisting into a wicked grin. What's wrong,
left your tongue back in the grave you
crawled out of? Vivienne seethed at the
familiar insult, yellowed nails digging into
the wood of the table. Undead were cursed
to speak in tongues, a language no creature
but one another could understand. Vivienne
hissed at the Orc, a slender, dark tongue
darting out past her lip.

Slowly, the Orc trudged towards Vivienne.

Each step rattled the tableware throughout
the tavern, the thundering sound of iron
meeting oak floors causing the Goblins
conversation to cease. The elfs ears twitched
with each footfall, the Dwarfs good eye now
following the lumbering mass. Vivienne

The Orc threw back his head and let out a

bellowing laugh that echoed throughout the
tavern, causing Vivienne to tremble with
rage. For so long had she endured the
curses, the glares, the blows of the living. For
so long had she ran from her own visage,
cowering away from her reflection like a dog

52

would a boot. For so long had she begged,

prayed, pleaded, her will unwavering, her
faith relentless, yet still, the Light would not
have her, no. She had been thrown away,
forgotten. She had been forsaken.

For the first time in decades, Vivienne

remembered what it felt like to be alive.
Daria Drenker

An intense fire burned deep within her gut, a

hand retreating to grip the dagger sheathed
at her side. On instinct she scanned the
room, the Dwarfs thick fingers now
wrapped warily around the trigger of his
gun, the elven Mages hands free from her
book and twitching to cast a spell. The
Goblins glanced nervously at one another
before gathering their possessions close, no
doubt eager to make a break for it if things
turned ugly. Good thing Vivienne didnt
count on a lengthy battle.
With one mighty jerk fueled by her pure
animosity, she struck, surging from her chair
and thrusting her blade forward into the
Orcs thick, exposed neck.
The laughter ceased, replaced by the
gurgling of hot blood filling the Orcs throat,
crimson pooling around Vivennes blade and
dripping down her closed fist. Mercilessly
she jerked the blade back, blood splatter
painting her ashen face with color as the Orc
fell to the floor clinging his throat, battleaxe
dropping with a thunderous clang. Vivienne
paced coldy around the table, eager to watch
the Orcs final moments as he sputtered and
coughed in a pool of his own blood. Within
minutes, he was dead.

Honourable Mention
Three Wishes
John was walking home from work, looking
up at the sky - as he always did on the way
home. Though when he turned a corner
something abnormal happened. He had
walked this route for many years, yet he had
never felt this sensation of pain in his
stomach. He felt a hot liquid run down his
legs from his stomach. Too afraid to look
down he gently put his hand on the wound
and felt something sharp stuck in his
stomach. He tried to call for help but
couldnt, because when he looked down
from the sky, he saw a person smiling at
him. This scared John even more than the
fact that he was dying. Not because this
madman was smiling, but because that
madman looked exactly like him. The only
word he could mutter came out as a whisper:

The tavern remained still, all eyes fixated on

the bloodied scene before them. Wordlessly
Vivienne brought the fabric of her cloak to
her blade, cleaning the metal of the warm
liquid that coated it. Once her weapon was
tucked safely back in its sheath she glanced
around once more, the wary eyes of the
remaining patrons meeting her own. She
grinned, tongue flicking out from behind her
lip to graze her bloodied cheek, the taste
euphoric.

Why?

53

Not knowing, is the best part of being human

John, just let it happen. The voice was his, yet
it was more mature and, mad. He looked
closer at that person. He saw that he, too,
was bleeding from his stomach. Then
everything went black.

You have three wishes my master, wish for

whatever you want to. But beware the grander
the wish, the grander the punishment. The
dust-cloud had spoken. Struck with fear and
awe John had not listened properly. Afraid
that if he looked away he would be killed he
stared into two hollow dark holes where the
eyes should have been and quickly came up
with an answer to please the ominous, aweinspiring dust cloud.

John was walking home from work, looking

up at the sky as he always did on the way
home, though when he turned a corner
something different happened; he tripped
and fell. He had walked this path thousands
of times and there had never been a loose
slab on this part of the sidewalk. He had
scraped his knee and it was bleeding a little,
but he was more interested in the loose slab.
Yet, as he looked where he tripped, he didnt
see a loose slab, he saw a lamp. It was a lamp
like he had seen in the Disney movie
Aladdin when he was a little boy.

I wish to know everything that has ever

happened.
You wish big but can you handle the
consciences? We shall see.
John entered a meditation-like condition and
saw wonderful things: how the universe was
created; saw galaxies take form; life on earth
and other planets evolve; the beauty of life
and creatures protecting their offspring; then
how creatures ate each other; the gore of
mature creatures killing and eating their
own offspring; entire planets full of life,
being wiped out by stars, or even intelligent
species wiping out life on their own planet,
even before earth was born. But what really
scared John was what he had seen humans
do. He had seen them be caring and just, but
he had also seen too much careless torturing,
slaving, and killing for fun. Yet he did not
believe this to be true. He wanted proof for
himself that it wasnt true. Lost in his
thought-process he, by mistake, blurted out,

Thats peculiar, he muttered to himself. He

took it up, wondering why anyone would
leave it there. He was surprised at how
heavy it was, as if it were real gold, which he
never would have guessed since it was
covered in dust, untouched by anything but
of course his foot when he tripped over it.
He held it up, and put it in his bag to take
home, then turned around to walk down
another street. The street he was on was the
shortest route home. Sometimes there were
gangs and he didnt want them to see the big
bulge in his bag to give them a reason to
mug him.
As John finally got home he took out the
dusted lamp and rubbed off the dust. As he
did so the dust seemed to form a pattern
that, if you looked closely, slightly
resembled a man waking up.

I want to be able to read peoples minds.

As you command master; it shall be done.
The dust cloud was not frightening any
more, neither was he awed, for John knew
where it came from. Now he was only a little
disgusted by being in this presence, but he
now knew that he could command the genie
around until his wishes were fulfilled.

Beware mortal, you should not have taken what

does not belong to you, you shall now pay, a
deep voice inside his head spoke. As if in
sync, the dust stilled and formed a fullgrown man in his prime years. He rose over
him and said now audibly in the room:

Leave me be for the rest of the day; this is not a

wish but a command.

54

As my master pleases. That very second the

genie vanished and the dust that had been
wiped off the lantern returned. Relieved by
this, John hid the lantern. He changed from
his work clothes to his casual clothes and
walked out; he was so busy thinking about
the day and about the future that he nearly
forgot to lock his door.

and what makes them so happy. He was no

longer human, but software with feelings
that were now shattered.
He got home late and breathed heavily. He
was finally secure, or rather people were
finally safe from him, he realized bitterly as
he was getting out the lamp, knowing his
final wish. Getting it out and rubbing the
dust off, he prepared for the disturbing
aroma of the genie, but none came when the
genie appeared.

As soon as John got out of the apartment

building he lived in, he instantaneously felt
guilty in a flood of personal thoughts that he
would have chosen to avoid if he had only
known. He tried to sort out his thoughts to
remember the way to Times Square.
Normally he would have had no problem
remembering directions, as he had walked
there many times, but it was harder to
remember with other peoples thoughts in
his head. It was not a quiet walk from where
he lived, since he lived on East 10 street
which was always busy with all the
restaurants. It was quite a challenge to
remember where to go, and he kept
whispering to himself when the next turn
was.

My master, what do you bid?

Do you know why children are always so happy,
and that when they become adults they lose their
freedom? John said, with a sad expression on
his face, looking at nothing in particular.
I am sorry, I have not experienced this myself,
as I was created and sealed by this lamp beside
you, the genie said with a smoother voice
than before, knowing Johns last answer
from experience from others like John.

th

It is their innocence they lose, you see. The less

you know the happier with life you are. Not
knowing this is the best part about being human,
and I am now no longer a human. I cannot
destroy you, but I can hide you. Grabbing a
knife, John regretfully said:

Turn left on to west 39 street John

whispered to himself. He wanted to sit down
and just absorb the thoughts of people
walking by. John then sat down in front of
the Levis store, 1501 Broadway by Times
Square in New York Manhattan, which was
typically very crowded.
th

My final wish is to go back in time, an hour

before I turned the corner to trip on your lamp.
Take me back to that exact place, next to the sea

Sitting there he came to realize how many

different cultures there were in New York.
There were Muslims, Hindus, Catholics,
Protestants and many more religions. There
were also people from many different
countries like Indians, Chinese, Japanese,
Thai, British, German and even some
countries he had not learned of in school.
Now of course, thanks to the genie, he had
also absorbed the thoughts of all the people.
He saw the worries, hopes, dreams, distrust,
and dissatisfaction of individuals and of the
entire human race. John saw thing he never
wanted to see; things that shocked him into
realizing what it really means to be human

As you wish my master, the genie said in his

dark and rougher voice. As John suddenly
felt the chill of a breeze outside he knew that
he had reached his destination, then tossed
the lamp out into the sea and waited, trying
to control his thoughts. Then finally he
collected the thoughts of his incoherent self,
walking down the street, looking through his
own eyes and enjoying life.
John was walking home from work, looking
up at the sky as he always did on the way
home, though when he turned a corner

55

something abnormal happened. He had

walked this route for many years yet he had
never felt this sensation of pain in his
stomach. He felt a hot liquid run down his
legs from his stomach. Too afraid to look
down, he gently put his hand on the wound
and felt something sharp stick in his
stomach. He tried to call for help but
couldnt, because when he looked down
from the sky he saw a person smiling at him.
This scared John even more than the fact that
he was dying. Not because this madman was
smiling, but because that madman looked
exactly like him. The only word he could
mutter came out as a whisper,

the interplanetary spacecraft are finally on

the move. Most of it is waiting for us in low
earth orbit, docked to the Artemis space
station. We would make the final
preparations there. The incidence with the
launch and release should not have any
adverse effects.
T= +16:15. Stage. Solid rocket boosters
separation.
Our trip would be the first manned mission
to the moon of the most distant of gas giants.
Triton had a wonderful launch window with
five gravity assists. Our three man crew
consisted of Richard, Davidson and me.
I had first met Richard at college while we
were learning about orbital mechanics. He
was the funny guy who sat near the back of
the room. I really got to know him well
when we were going through our training
together. I can work well with him because
we have similar interests but very different
personalities. As for Davidson, I have only
gotten to properly talk to him a handful of
times, but from what I have heard and know
about him, he seems to be very responsible
and respectable.
T= +40:40. Stage. Liquid boosters separation 1
and 2. Launch Escape Tower jettison.
The launch window had approached sooner
than would have been nice for the team to
prepare. We could not delay the launch date
because waiting for the next window as
good as this one would have taken centuries.
Looking out of the small windows, the view
of the earth does not seem as breathtakingly
special as it did earlier, during my first
missions.
T= +1:25:35. Stage. Liquid booster separations 3
and 4. Circularise orbit.
Our craft has reached the altitude for low
earth orbit at more than one hundred and
twenty kilometers. We should have had a
launch site at the equator. The alignment
process with the equatorial orbit of the space
station would have cost thousands of
kilolitres of fuel by now.
Altering Orbit Angle 27.6 degrees. Main engine
and booster cut-off. Land speed = 7.649 km/s.
Docking with Artemis space station next.
The enormous photovoltaic panels are

Why?
Not knowing is the best part of being human
John, just let it happen. The voice was his, yet
it was more mature and mad. He looked
closer at the person; he saw that he, too, was
bleeding from his stomach. Slowly he felt his
limbs grow tired, his head began feeling
tired. He sank to his knees ready to embrace
death, slowly losing touch with the world,
then hearing ambulance sirens and screams.
Valdemar Lauritsen

Honourable Mention
Trip to Triton
The canopy of clouds steadily approaches as
the exhaust clouds of burnt kerosene, water
vapour and aluminium oxide are visible in
the hot glow of the flames. The last parts of

56

blocking out the sun as we approach the

space station through their shadows. They
actually appear rather dull brown when the
light passes through them instead of the
deep blue when they are lit from the front.
Approaching Artemis. We should be
aligning the docking nodes next. Forwards
slowly...
Docked with Artemis.
Our rendezvous with Artemis was
successful. Davidson was already in Low
Earth Orbit, on the Artemis. Richard and I
would meet him and discuss our plan for
rearranging the rocket and the remaining 2
liquid fuel boosters. We would then have to
refuel from the space station. Davidson is
talking to Mission Control. He thinks that
the rough release fromt the launch tower
might have caused a few issues. He seems
concerned about the deployment of the
landing gear.
Undocked with Artemis.
We have actually taken away a large part of
what was berthed to the space station with
our interplanetary spacecraft. preparing for
the earth escape burn is taking a long time
with . I still think that we should have gone
to Titan instead because of its atmosphere
which could have enabled flight and also use
of parachutes. The habitation module is
actually quite nice even though it is rather
small. The exercise equipment is slightly
limited.
Initiate the earth escape procedure,
Richard. Davidson had the right to be in
charge; he had much more experience on
space missions.
Earth escape velocity reached
We are still burning the main rockets. The
boosters will burn up in Mars atmosphere,
after we use the red planet for a gravity
assist. We are having close encounter with
the moon now. I think I see the Olympus
space station at the moons Lagrange point 2.
Mars closest encounter
The last parts of the Omega VI heavy have
left us now. The so-called red planet isnt as
red as I had expected it to be. Mars is
actually rather brown and the visibly white

permafrost at the poles actually looks rather

dusty.
Jupiter closest encounter
Mission Control is taking longer to respond
to our signals, probably due to the ever
increasing distance between us and them. It
takes more than an hour for them to reply.
This is going to be a very long trip. I hope
that the waste water recycling systems dont
malfunction. Were all getting tired of having
to exercise everyday. Why do we need to
maintain muscle and bone density if we
aren't really even going to use them for a
couple of years?
Uranus closest encounter
These windows should have been slightly
wider; the view we had was very limited.
Richard and I have become much closer
friends. Davidson is also much nicer than he
first appears, if you take the effort to get to
know him. Jupiter and Uranus gravity
assists were relatively boring. Neptune
should be known as the blue planet, not
earth.
The next major step would be aero-braking
at Neptune to get into a Neptune capture
orbit which would have a close encounter
with Triton.
Neptune closest encounter.
Neptune Capture.
We are burning retrograde at Triton to slow
ourselves into a Triton capture trajectory.
Richard and I are going to head down to the
moon on the lander. Davidson will stay in
the orbiter. I dont know why Davidson
decided to stay in orbit. He is the captain of
the mission and was advised to go down so
that he would need less training. He has had
to learn all about the capsule, more than we
do, because he will always be in it.
We are transferring fuel into the lander. I
wonder why they hadnt done this earlier.
We only need the specific impulse
mentioned by Mission Control to complete
this mission. Most of the lander will be left
behind on Triton while Richard and I will
come up to the Proteus capsule. The rest of
the lander will then be sent down to collide
with Triton as we perform the Triton escape
burn. If we had done this 50 years ago, we

57

would have lost connection with mission

control every time earth was eclipsed by
Triton, Neptune or the sun. We should have
brought a rover as well as the lander.
Triton Capture. Lander Undocked.
Our perigee is below the surface of Triton
and we are rapidly approaching our landing
site. We will burn retrograde again just
before we fly over the landing site. Burning...
vertical. The 4 engine are keeping us stable
as we land. Richard has deployed the
landing legs. Touchdown.
The Proteus has landed on Triton.
We damaged the lander slightly on landing
and are limited to using only one of two
primary photovoltaic panels as a result. The
auxiliary panels have been deployed and are
able to manage with the slightly reduced
amount of electricity.
It is strange and exciting to be on a planet so
far away from earth that it takes hours for
family, friends or Mission Control to
respond but it feels extremely lonely and
dangerous even though there were 3 of us. It
also feels amazing to look up into the sky
and see an enormous blue planet instead of
our small grey moon, through the frost
covered glass of the window.
Departure from Triton.
After 2 months, all of the experimentation
and investigation is finally over. Another
rocket burn after 2 months seemed a bit
strange. The lander and ground sped away
from us as we experienced earth-like
acceleration after 17 months.
As we orbit the blue-brown moon, I see the
Proteus capsule approaching. Our relative
velocity is now 0.8 m/s. Aligning docking
nodes. Relative velocity is now 0.05 m/s.
Forwards slowly? Relative Velocity is now
-0.03 m/s. Forwards slowly again bounce
again. Docking node must be damaged.
Docking Error 12: Docking node incompatibility.
Depressurize Proteus Capsule and Lander. EVA
into Proteus capsule
We leave the capsule as Davidson gets into
his spacesuit. He depressurises the Proteus
and open the hatch for us. I enter the
spacecraft, wondering if the Proteus docking
node has also been damaged. Davidson is

not at all worried by our ominous docking

problems. I am. I never liked the be careful
what you wish for song.
Triton escape velocity reached.
Neptune escape velocity reached.
We burn until our trajectory should take us
into an earth encounter. We will have a large
gravity assist (due to a close encounter) from
Saturn and a weaker assist from Titan which
should slingshot us towards earths
predicted location. One of our thermal
radiators has been damaged. We have been
forced to retract a photovoltaic panel in an
attempt to maintain temperature.
Saturn closest encounter.
Richard keeps cheating in whatever game
we play. Davidson and I are getting on very
well. We have had to retract another
photovoltaic panel as a result of overheating
as we get closer to the sun. The trip back is
actually quite long. Even though we got a
big assist from Saturn, we only have two
assists instead of three like on the way to
Triton. The assist from Titan isnt actually
going to speed us up much.
The purpose of this trip has started to seem a
bit vague to the three of us. Davidson tries to
sound like he knows why, but it is easy to
tell what someone actually thinks if youre
living in a capsule with them for months. We
should be able to get to Triton and back, but
perhaps the trip was prepared in too much
of a rush. How are we going to benefit from
these experiments? Was it really required to
send humans there? Isnt this trip just a
show of power?
Titan closest encounter.
We are finally almost back to earth. We are
now burning retrograde again in an attempt
to
slow
down
from
the
ballistic
interplanetary trajectory. We are going to
perform a two-part re-entry so that we slow
down to less than orbital velocity in the first
re-entry but use the capsules heat shield, as
a wing, to send us back up and out of the
atmosphere. Our second re-entry should
slow us down enough that our parachutes
can help us land safely in those gorgeous
blue oceans.

58

We have moved from the habitation module

to command module as we approach earth.
The habitation module has been successfully
jettisoned and is going to burn up in the
atmosphere so that there is less load on the
heat shield and parachute.
Re-entry 1.
Earth Capture.
This re-entry approach worked. It feels a lot
like aerobraking. I contemplate our
accomplishments through the trip and
realise that it has been all that I had hoped
for. I should have higher expectations next
time.
Re-entry 2.
Drogue Parachute deployment failure. Drogue
Parachute jettison failure.
Main Parachute deployment failure.
Connection with Mission Control lost.
***
All of the endless years and months of
planning, along with all last-minute
preparations, were finally going to pay off...
T= -5... T= -4, Main engine ignition, T= -2... T=
-1... We have lift-off of the Proteus Mk4 capsule
and lander atop the Omega VI Heavy Rocket. We
have cleared the launch tower on the first manned
trip to Triton.
I wonder how this trip turns is going to turn
out. I hope that it wont be uneventful; thats
usually more exciting and interesting in the
long run, but I am actually quite nervous.

Beginning of Charolais: The Turning

Point
It was a warm and pleasant morning in
early April. The sun was sending warm and
friendly rays down to the Earth, which
responded in its own way. Flowers and
shrubs had begun to grow and larks were
singing their gleeful song in the sky. Spring
was like a paradise and a few months before,
I would have enjoyed walking through this
countryside with my beloved wife, Beatrice,
but right now, I did not notice.
I was intently studying a map of the land,
supplied by the staff and so we had no time
for this paradise; only for war. It was not a
war without reason, oh no, for it was a war
to rise to glory and get revenge. A war
against the Austrians, for who else? In the
last century, they had marched across all
Europe, defeated all their enemies and
grown to become the defender of the
Empire, guardian of all catholics and
usurper of freedom. Maybe that is not quite
how the Austrians felt, but it was certainly
the prevalent opinion among us French on
that day.
I saw a lark flying overhead and I thought
of how it resembled France. The Austrian
hunter had shot the bird and it had lost one
of its feathers. That feather was Charolais,
once a proud and prosperous part of France,
but now an enslaved part of the Austrian
Empire. It had been lost in 1621, a disastrous
war, but it was now 1653 and a new war was
to be fought. Not a war of defeat and loss,
but of reconquest and revenge.
I was ready to participate in that strike for
revenge. I had left my beautiful wife behind
and joined as a captain in the fourth Alenon
infantry, known, less formally, as the Bible
Shooters. The nickname was earned when,
right before a battle, the regiment was not
given any fuses, as there were not enough to
go around. However, one of the officers
suggested using pages from the Bible to light
the guns instead of fuses. The musket balls
that were fired from the guns that day were

Mohit Kumar

59

said to have struck the enemy with the force

of God and drove them from the field.
I looked around at the 100 men in my
company. Many of them I knew, like Gerard,
a tall brown-haired man with a face that had
a scar stretching right across the chin where
a British soldier had blown half if it off in St.
Helena. That had been my first war, as well
as Gerards. The British had attacked France
and sent armies to the north in Brittany, as
well as advancing in the colonies. I had
enlisted early on in the war, but the British
invasion had been crushed without my
regiment and we were sent to St. Helena.
The British fortresses in Brazil were holding
out against our soldiers and they were
supplied through St. Helena. Somehow, the
British knew we were coming there and the
battle had not been easy.
I also saw Sergeant Picord, one of the
oldest men in the regiment at 46, with hair
that had almost turned completely grey and
a moustache that was the envy of many men.
He was not so tall, but still quite strong and
had a voice that could be heard in Paris if he
shouted from Moscow. He came closer to
me, walking up from where the regiment
was gathered and exercising his customary
habit of running his hand through his
greasy,grey hair.
Nice morning, sir, he said in a voice so
loud the birds in the trees nearby fled to the
skies.
It is, I replied.
So, thats what were going for then?
Picord asked pointing at a barn a few
kilometres distant. It was called Hoguin and
it was there the centre of the Austrian army
had gathered. They had marched into France
again, just like in 21, but this time they
would be beaten.
Indeed it is sergeant. We shall have a nice
walk up these fields and then drive them
from the hill, I said. The Austrians had
prepared a position on the Vartommes ridge,
which stretched all the way through Nevers
and entered into Charolais. I knew it would
be difficult to take.
Well the plan is simple, at least.
Command must be learning, Picord said

with a smile as he left me and headed back

down to the men. I looked back towards the
hill. It looked steep and with a matchlock
musket to carry and ammunition it would
take quite some time, all while we would be
pounded by artillery and then finally by the
enemy musket men themselves. It would be
very difficult to take, but we would have to
do it.
Nicolai Hkkerup

Glance This Way and That

It was 946 AD and I was only thirteen years
old. I was lying in my bed, staring at the
coarse pine ceiling. It was normally a rather
bleak sight, but today the cracks in the wood
seemed to be smiling at me. Tomorrow was
the great day, I thought. My sister was to be
wed.
I couldnt sleep: I was too excited. Tomorrow
was the great day after all. My family had
prepared for many months. There would be
all-manner of food and drink, with many
joys and festivities. This would go on for
three days three fabulous days.
As I lay there in my bed, all content and
happy, a flower of doubt began blossoming

60

in my mind. I stood up, vigilant and ready.

There was a smell, growing increasingly
stronger. It was the smell of smoke.
I ran out of my room (which was being filled
by smoke) and into the corridor. The smoke
seeped across the walls. It crept into me, like
a great dark tide, beginning to infest and
contaminate me. It was thick; the whole
house was burning.
There was a great tumult, as the rest of my
family attempted to escape. My tongue
tasted of the acrid smoke. My breathing was
hoarse and my eyes were stinging. This was
no accident; someone was burning the
house.
I felt the rugged walls with my hands,
looking for them to guide me away. My
hand bumped into a hard piece of wood. I
instantly realised what it was, and the
thought reassured me. It was the haft of the
axe my father used to chop wood.
I opened my eyes. The axe was indeed there
in front of me, hanging on the wall,
beckoning me forward. I grabbed it, and
with a few strokes I sliced off the hinges of
the door that led outside the house.
The rest of the escape came as a blur. I
vaguely realised that I had pummelled my
way through someone standing outside. All
the better that I had the door in my hands.
The sky was dim and forbidding, seemingly
trying to force me to stop, but I was
determined not to surrender.
I gathered my senses as I came to the edge of
the woods. A quick glance told me that I had
to continue forward. An arrow sliced
directly past me and dropped down into a
pile of snow. It had been but a few
centimetres from my head. The trees were
dark, their branches appearing to be
gripping out to catch me. I had to keep on
running.
A few moments later, I dropped down into
the snow, collapsing in despair, unable to
continue. It was gloomy and altogether quite
dismal, this place from which I could go no
further. No light was piercing the
surrounding blackness, other than that of the
moon. A fox darted past me. It probably
recognised what was to come.

My thoughts rapidly flew by. One moment

my mind was focusing on my family; all of
them probably dead. Then it would be
content on continuing escaping. I remained
indecisive, falling deeper and deeper into the
pit of dismay. I heard a faint stirring noise
emanating from a bush near me. Is this the
end? I muttered softly to myself.
A man burst out of the trees, a great spear
hefted in his hands. He came closer to me,
taking one cautious step after the next. I saw
his muscles tense in preparation for a lunge.
Then, the man stared at me, an incredulous
expression eminent on his face. He said one
word: son?
It was none other than my own father! I was
now utterly confused; he was supposed to be
dead. A multitude of thoughts greater than
any I had ever had before raced across my
mind. How had he survived?
When I asked him this question he seemed
deeply lost in the realms of confusion. He
explained to me that someone had broken
down the back door of the house and run
into the woods. He thought it had been a
thief, attempting to escape. But it had only
been me sleepwalking.
A dream (praise be to the gods), but a very
shocking one nonetheless. I thought I had
lost everything: my family, my house; but
we had been lucky. We had prepared for the
joyous feast, forgetting to be vigilant against
the ever lurking foe. You must hold
everything close in this life, or it will all slip
away, just out of your grasp. I often recount
a Viking Proverb: The man who stands at a
strange threshold should be cautious before he
cross it. Glance this way and that: who knows
beforehand what foes may sit, awaiting him in the
hall. Mark these words well.
Nicolai Hkkerup

61

And I believed him.

Five years into our unhealthy
lifestyle I indeed found his other lover. On
the day before 2013, he stumbled home one
fine night in a clouding stench of gin and
vermouth, with his other partner and
walked up to me, stared into my eyes for a
moment, and made his way to his chambers,
leaving me on the couch we picked out
together, with a tear on my face. I followed
him in, left him with a stinging red mark on
his face and packed my suitcase and left. I
took $1200 cash from our emergency box
and bought a ticket on the first plane back to
New York; to start over again. To reclaim
myself once more.

New Years Eve

3, 2, 1
On New Years Eve, I sat alone, up
twenty-seven flights of stairs in a two-room
apartment in New York City. Six blocks
away I could hear screams and shouts in
Times Square as happy couples and
belligerent party animals waited for a
brilliant display of lights and color, and to
enter the new year. The Times Square
phenomenon always attracted millions out
of their homes in the frigid, biting air that
New England pitted against them, and every
year, millions stood outside to leap into the
next chapter of their lives. And, six blocks
away, here I am, at 10:57 on December 31 ,
foolishly hoping for a visitor.

Life hasnt been easy since. He

always made the money, and we were never
married. But I managed. But every year after
that, I still fix myself a glass of champagne
for myself, and for him, creating an illguided illusion that he might once again
return to me and say Dakota as that
would be all he needed to say. Of course,
this could never work as I have never told a
single soul my address. I dont invite people
to my apartment, mainly because there is no
elevator in my building and I dont think
anybody other than myself would want to
walk up twenty-seven flights of stairs to
come over for coffee every now and again.
And, temporary solitude has proven to be
quite relaxing for me: escaping things at the
end of the day with no one but me. It is bliss.

st

A man.
His name is Michael. We were
together for a time; lovers, however not
according to him. He had always put me
second on his list of priorities when we were
together, but even so, I would love him until
my heart gave out. New Years Eve was our
favorite holiday, as we would always buy a
tall bottle of the nicest champagne we could
find and enjoy each others company. We
would always move, wherever his work
took him. Thats what he told me, at least.
But, behind his innocent smile I could
always sense dishonesty. Never shame,
never regret, but a bleak, cold sensation of
distrust. He would filter his actions through
a smile and the minimal reassurance of an I
love you.

11:39. Twenty-one minutes until I

embrace another New Year, alone. Cameron
invited me over to his place for beers and a
pie, but I declined.
New Years Eve is too hard for me to do
with other people, I told him.
Of course. Yeah, no problem.

62

I pour myself my first glass of

champagne of the night. The seven-dollar
bottle from Costco doesnt really match up to
standards with a Perignon imported from
the Champagne region in northern France,
but itll have to do. I down it.

all I hear is silence. Well, thats not entirely

true, I can hear my heart. I turn to walk
towards my balcony, with my glass of
champagne in my hand, and he looks over
my shoulder and sees a second glass, and he
knows who its for. I nearly died of
embarrassment. But he just smiles.
Genuinely, this time. I can tell. 22 21
20 19 I walk outside, in the cold air. He
is still inside. 12 11 10 9 I take
hold of the railing, and he walks outside. I
grab my glass, he grabs my hand. 6 5
4 We turn to face each other, he leans in
towards me, and I to him.

11:52. Only 8 minutes left. I stand

outside on my apartments small balcony.
Times Square is growing louder and louder.
I return to my book and envelop
myself in the art style that is Fitzgerald.
Gatsby seems to be enjoying his New Years Eve,
I think to myself.

3
At 11:57 I pour a glass of champagne
into my own glass, and one into the
imaginary Michaels, at which point the
units alarm goes off. I can hear it in the hall,
all the way from the foyer, twenty seven
storeys down. I dont think much of it. I
mean, the last time this place got the
electricity checked was in 1966. Things like
this happen all the time. My only concern is
if its still going off when I want to sleep. But
it stops, and I return to my thoughts.

11:58.

Andrew Shinn

11:59.
I step out onto my balcony, and listen
as the crowd counts it down. 59 58 57
56
My apartment door swings open.
Damn. I forgot to lock the door.
I grab one of the umbrellas off of my
balcony. I mean, I think its possible to ward
off an attacker with an umbrella.

The Bounty of Butchery

I go back inside to see whats

happening. I hear a rustling in the kitchen
area. Its pretty dark. I turn on the lights and
there he is. Michael. He looks at me. I look at
him. Times Square continues to count it
down with gusto, 37 36 35 34. But

I rode down along the road and inspected

the town in front of me. It was the town of
Snderborg. It was where I was born, where
I had lived all my life, and now the place I
was returning to, victorious in every

63

manner. Once all I had been was an

ambitious boy, who had wanted to become
rich and be a hero. I had never been
anything. I had been a useless, unimportant
little boy, dreaming of becoming somebody
one day. Now I was someone; the war had
made me someone.
People always ask me if it had been horrible.
The answer was of course yes. But at the
same time it had been beautiful gorgeous. I
had started at the lowest rank; a foot soldier.
I had signed up early in the war (as I had no
job and wanted some excitement) and
quickly rose through the ranks. I was an
incredible commander, with an insatiable
appetite for the adrenaline rush one feels
when in a battle. I had fought in a number of
engagements: Slesvig, Dybbl, Kolding,
Fredericia, Isted, and Frederiksstad. In the
end I emerged as a hero.
I had lost friends in the war; that much is
true. I had seen men die, very many men die.
Among those men were: Mikkel, my first
officer, Georg, my only friend in the
beginning of the war, and Sren Hestegrd,
another comrade. All these men were close
to me, (especially Mikkel) but that did not
deter me one second from what I had to do. I
have massacred enemy civilians and
butchered their soldiers, but what does it
matter? Some were innocent and some were
not. I did what I had to do, both for me and
my country.
You could say I was brave, recognizing my
duty and fighting on to the end, but I see it
in a different way. War is like a wheel. It can
stop, and you will have been cut down in the
slaughter, or it can keep spinning, faster and
faster. The latter is what happened to me.
War gave me gifts: glory, the strength to
prevail, recognition. War was kind and
generous to me, while it was sinister and
wretched to others. Many are envious of me
now, because of what I did back then. I
reaped the rewards when they couldnt. As I
approached that town I was a hero. If I
retired I would receive a large pension, and
if I didnt I could become the mayor of
Snderborg as quickly as I wanted. Before I
was unemployed, useless to society, but now

I am an important man, worthy of the gifts

that have been bestowed upon me. The
change was incremental, and it was the best
change that had happened to me in my life.
As I entered the town the people cheered. I
was a hero. It was momentous; it was
fantastic. I was the true winner of this war.
My country may have succeeded in
defeating the rebels, but I had defeated the
unfairness of society. War had been my
tutor, my guide. Now it had left the rest to
me. I had to pick up on my victories and
push them through. Nothing could stop me,
and I had war to thank for that.
Nicolai Hkkerup

The Nightmare
Once in the aftermath of a forgotten war in a
forgotten age there were three young men
who were survivors, all of them from three
countries that had participated in the war.
Two of them had met earlier and celebrated
as victors for days on end, when one night
they almost stumbled across the third young
man. The third man was sleeping in a
foxhole, really no more than a crater from an
artillery shell. One of the two said, Hey
look there! Drunk maybe?
Without saying a word the second man
quickly walked over to the sleeping man. He
nudged the sleeping man with his boot and
took a step back. There was no response,
nothing. Then the second man responded
with a heavy sigh.
No, just a former enemy. Now, another
body to bury.
Suddenly the third man started to move, and
he sat upright looking around himself. The
first man readied his weapon, aiming at this
mysterious person that was now sitting in
the foxhole.
James? S-s-hould I kill the bastard?
shouted the first man.
No! Enough killing has happened the last
few days, James shouted back.
What if hes undead or something? The
first man swallowed.

64

No, no, hes just unarmed, nothin more,

answered James.
They heard him mutter.
Bloody nightmares.
What was that? the first man shouted
while lowering his weapon.
Leave him Joe, said James as he took off
his small army backpack containing nothing
more than a blanket and some letters
sticking out from one of the side pockets.
The
third
person
shouted
back,
NIGHTMARES!
So youre not undead? answered Joe and
turned towards James.
Cut that out Joe, lets settle here. Keep him
company, at least for tonight, James told
Joe. Joe looked at the unknown man and
then at James who sat down reading his
letters.
You sure about this? Joe said.
James didnt respond, he just sat there
reading his letters over and over again
switching in between them. Joe sighed
heavily and sat down a few feet a away, with
weapon at his side.
James and Joe both started to look around in
their backpacks. The third man however just
sat there watched as he had no backpack, no
weapons, and no food; he had absolutely
nothing. He was just the remains of a
defeated enemy. All three of them were
silent for a long while until James broke it.
Joe, have you got any food left?
Joe didnt reply. Instead he took out a can
with no labels. It was open and half empty.
Its the only thing I got left Joe said. The
third man just stared out in the open air.
Well were not eating that! James said
strictly. Joe put it back into the backpack
while James made a small campfire out of a
few sticks and a lighter he had.
It was cold this night, colder than usual.
James and Joe looked at each other then
looked at the man. He was still staring out in
the open air. James looked around himself.
There were only some bushes and a tree, the
rest was grey, darkish, and a mist had
appeared, but nothing more. James grabbed
his letters once more and started reading
them one by one.

Joe however looked nervous. He took his

weapon, checked it and started looking
around himself. He looked at the third man a
few times who was just sitting there. He
wondered whether or not to put a bullet
straight through this mans chest, just as he
had done earlier
NIGHTMARES!! the third man shouted
once more.
James quickly turned his head towards him,
and slowly started to move away from the
campfire. Joe aimed at the third man. He had
pulled the trigger the moment he heard the
third man shout. The safety catch was on
though and the gun never fired. The third
man came closer to the campfire.
Stay back! Joe said.
All of a sudden the third man said, Let me
tell you fellas a story.
Nightmares occur when you are trying to
forget things, he said with a heavy accent.
Try to forget a memory and it will first
slowly fade into a mist of forgetfulness, the
man told them. In a desperate attempt to be
remembered the memory will appear in
dreams and later nightmares, he spat out as
he started breathing more intensely.
Well good thing you forgot em, right?
James interrupted. The third man looked
grimly at him and James figured that he
shouldnt interrupt anymore.
However, what is frightening is that these
nightmares can come from a harmless
memory, the third man continued, staring
at the other two. You see a nightmare
consists of three parts: a harmless memory, a
more frightening memory and a dream. He
ended with a long pause. Lets say that this
harmless memory is that I saved a group of
people I knew well, he stopped again.
And that the frightening memory is people
being hanged by extremists. He raised his
voice in anger. Now combine these two and
add a dream where everything is possible,
he lowered his voice. Change the extremists
for red-skinned demons in armor with
swords and shields from ancient times.
There was yet again a pause.
The demons are hanging the group of
people that you knew and tried to save but

65

who got caught instead. There was another

pause. The demons are hanging them one
by one and you are last, the third man said
with a heavy sigh.
When its your turn to hang from the tree,
they lift you up and as you breathe your last
breath you wake up! the man told the
other two. You open your eyes and look at
the bedroom door which you cant
remember if you left open or not he
proceeded quickly. You see the shadow of a
figure much like the demons in the
nightmare. You quickly close your eyes and
open them again. This time you stare at the
shadow a bit longer and it seems to be
moving towards you, the man said quietly.
Then you close your eyes a final time but
curiosity makes you open them again, he
said as he forced a pause.
When you open them theres no shadow,
theres nothing but an empty dark room so
you decide to sleep. However seconds
become minutes and minutes become hours
as you cant sleep he said as the intensity
came back. Then all of a sudden you wake
up the next morning and wonder if it all was
a dream, a nightmare? his final words were
spoken.
James said nodded and looked at Joe who
was still aiming at the third man.
Lower your weapon Joe. James said.

Why? What if hes gonna kill- Joe

answered.
He doesnt have anything and hes not
gonna kill us. Hes just another defeated
enemy James interrupted.
Can I ask you two a question? the third
man asked the two others. He moved
towards them before any of them answered.
I cant help but wonder, with this war and
all, have you ever wondered if this war is
just a dream? he said slowly, as he moved
around the campfire, coming towards them.
Ye- James tried to say before he and Joe
heard a scream in the dark night.
The next morning two soldiers were found
by a patrol passing by looking for survivors.
The soldiers were each from their victorious
country. One was hanging from a tree, with
only his upper body still attached to the
head. The other man was lying in the
foxhole, with the campfire burning inside
what used be his chest. Also a set of
footprints from an inhuman creature. A
demon, perhaps--or was it all just a dream?
A nightmare?
The End
rjan Tingvik

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Labyrinth

POETRY

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POETRY
When looking on the internet for the definition of
poetry we were inundated by a deluge of
interpretations that ultimately left us feeling as
though we had more questions than answers.
The makers of poems are brave souls who
venture forth into an indefinable and yet
absolutely necessary aspect of humanity and our
own consciousness of self. Unshackled and

unfettered by dogma, poets give us opportunities

to think and feel about ourselves and our lives in
new and unforeseen ways. Each and every poet
ought to be congratulated for daring to present
parts of themselves for public consumption. May
all poets continue to make us think and feel, in
ways we find challenging, delightful, and
disturbing.

First Prize
Beneath Skin bridges the gap between the final products of socialization and the beast we all have
within. In a moment beautifully described, time stands still as we explore the fine nuances of an
intimate interaction, both peaceful and destructive, meaning everything and nothing at the same time.
Well done Daria on reminding us about the multifaceted nature of human interaction and how it
reflects the interactions within.
Beneath Skin
There are times when I find my touch
dancing along your features.
Fingertips trailing over
a ridged brow
each crease a mountain
a memory
seeping through the folds of skin
to paint the pasts
untold.
A switchblade
the handle worn, marred
by a calloused grip
the suffocating blanket
of stagnant air
the soft, sobbing sound
of a teacup
shattering.
These are the things sealed
engrained
within your bruised visage
these are the things
you fear most.
Your eyes narrow as I
dip
down
the arch
of your nose, sharp
and wrinkling

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POETRY
lips pursed
with corners curling
into the faintest of smiles
I tread upon your gaze
as one would a frozen lake
gingerly shifting my weight
each step a risk
a thrill
in this moment I cease
to exist
in this moment I am enveloped
sinking
beneath the ice
in this moment
I hear you
murmuring curtly
your tone low, cautious
and I surface.
You repeat the word
my name
a phrase commonly uttered
the manner familiar
but yet
different.
Your eyes are clear
focused
calculating
shifting across my features
as one would read a book
no, a wolf
assessing the scent
of a fellow beast.
I click my tongue at you
fingers extending to graze along
a livid cheek
set jaw
veined throat
you flinch only slightly
lip guilty slipping behind teeth
as you dip into the touch
and I cradle you
murmuring the promises
I'll keep
until morning.
Daria Drenker

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POETRY

Second Prize
Delivered with passion and character, 13 Commandments is a powerful manifesto, ever so relevant to
our generation. The audience were blown away by the authors striking spoken-word performance
during the CIS Arts Evening, this is a piece that needs to be experienced. The accompanying poem
Give Me is equally captivating in its raw honesty. Delivered straight from the heart, with all its
instabilities and confusions, we were moved by the wild, sporadic thoughts; simultaneously longing
and destructive. We hope that you continue to exhibit courage, Yulia, and do not stop contributing to
the world of poetry.
13 Commandments
1. Listen to those whom you respect and appreciate, know your own part and never deviate.
Whether raps or books just listen to the words and figure out the wisdom written into every
verse.
2. Understand skunk is a powerful herb. That talk and tempts and walks your sense and
tortures strength. Like ah are these my thoughts or do they belong to my splif. Too much
green, turns your dreams into myths.
3. True love asks nothing of either person, it just exists- timelessly between them. It satisfies
soul, body, whole, your mind. It dont control nor define, it dont repel nor crush. It just
rushes, it shivers, it gushes it ain't bitter and it doesn't hold grudges. It colours your cheeks
and it floods you with blushes, and you will know it - when you feel it.
4. Love that aint true, love thats forced. Will run you down, before it runs its course. It eats
up time and ability, inspires resentment, encourages panic and pain and not containment.
And lust really only seeks to satisfy self, but that true stuff it seeks to satisfy both. Thats why
whenever youre close, I know that I am safe but still I hold my own weight - cuz love means
each control their own fate.
5. Learn, always learn til youre tiredness through. Always, every single day comprehend
something new. Its up to you to achieve everything you want to. I know my stuff, but Ill
never tell myself Ive learnt enough.
6. In every single person, I believe there exists a possible perfection. But to understand this we
have to be engaged with our inner-selves and brave and well-behaved and add permission to
escape from this maze.
7. Words are spoken without consideration or truth - are words spoken in darkness and they
are spoken for doomed and for speakers to gloom. And if youre not truthful to yourself, your
lies will consume you. Til you cant separate the lies from the real, you cant discern how you
feel, manners difficult to more without truth to propel you. And if nobody can trust you, then
nobody can help you.
8. Extend deepest love to those that care for you and never ever disrespect someone who's
there for you. True friends are those who have your best interests at heart and whose interests

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who stay in yours whether youre close or apart. A true friendship, it will endure, it will
remain, friends are willing to dismiss until youve learnt through your pain.
9. Take care of yourself and your brain. Stay clear of what fucks you up, add refrain from
temptation, and dont fall into darkness when you're lost in contemplation. And don't let
yourself accelerate your mental degradation. Ah they say that good intentions pave the
pathway to hell. I say what points to evil, leads to evil, that will ransack the bones. If you were
born to do good and live well, if you have sworn to do good and live - only time will tell.
10. Measure prosperity, not by financial success or by any other vanity. Not by power, your
power or the power of your family, power by politics, sex or barbarity. Measure your
prosperity by your proximity to true love, true friends, by your ability to live in personal and
collective truth. If you join up all these points you can collect my truth.
11. Simply un-appropriately put, point eleven is this. Study hard and always be on your
guard. Cuz when you seem to be in charge, you will get hated, and jealous one will try and
take away what you have created. Study hard all the same, stay committed be prolific, and
cut down on the drinking so your thinking is specific. I keep my head in my books, because I
believe that books can enhance the mind. Well, fuck that just look up at the stars the way they
dance in the sky.
12. The greatest reward or those that you cant see, touch or smell or taste you might say. The
greatest reward is the feeling that grows inside you when you act in the right way.
13. Telling yourself you don't know what the truth is, is plain fucking cowardice. In the heart
of your heart, in the depth of your solitude. You know that you have to fight hard until you
have devoured this. The truth it lies waiting there, cold, right now in your guts. It waits for
you to gather up the courage enough, to just confront your mistakes, We live to reciprocate.
Strength is a commodity it isnt common place.
You don't need the consent of another to be strong, only to be weak. You know how weakness
seeks approval and company? Strangers in front of me, flashing sharp eyes, kind of hungrily.
Not you! different strangers. You see, we must aim to eradicate all strains of weakness from
our heart and our minds, as if we could live in truth and in love. And then our lives could
prevail and then on the skies we could sail.
Yulia Davey

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POETRY
Give me strength.
Give me reason.
Give me that face of yours, give me those feelings.
Give me breathing space, give me ceilings stared at, thinking that was great - but when are
you leaving?
Ah give me softness, give me seasons changing.
Give me freezing hands in pockets, needing a hand, but your hands never hold back still.
I dont hold back, Im saying look give me something, alright.
Fine, dont give me nothing, give me a start-up, give me calling, give me kisses falling down
like pouring rain, even though I know that its all in vain.
Give me one more morning. Give me something good, that dont get boring. You know like
flesh for adoring, brush for the drawing. Booze for the pouring, or the pause before the
applauding. Give me sanction, give me closure, man- give me back my life, get over. Give me
a body that doesnt hurt, a mind that isnt about to desert me. Nah, give me 30 fags and a
dirty bag of drugs, and a drink Im thirsty. Thats serious, I wouldnt mind a drink.
Give me a minute and Ill find an excuse for doing those things that hurt me. No wait, give me
a microphone, sit and observe me. Give me a room full of strangers and tell me they heard
me. I know - give me a driver, to drive me around when my days are too short and my heart
has fallen out of its fortress.
Give me some trumpets, give me some burning, give me concern, give me your nauseous
gurning face, and them lessons that we cant learn. Ah but I give it all when Im giving, I give
it all. Thats how I Know that Im living. I will give you heart, I will give me love, I will give
my blood and my guts, What I wont give is up.
So come on, what you get. I can live with regret, I will give it all night - but dont stay too
long, just give me a smile.
We can kiss for a while. And then Ill fall in love with you after youre gone, fine.
Just give me the morning I wake up and dont feel sick and regretful and have a head full of
shame. And then reach for a pencil and try and explain what cant be explained. And now Im
like ah, give me the same as what youre getting, you look happy, you look carefree. Oh no
wait a minute, you look scary and like you cant bare me- Sorry
And then Im like fine, give me water then, give me sleep, give me food to eat that doesnt
leave me weak. No no no, I know what I need. I need a box of wine cuz every face is yours but
you face isnt mine.
I need to get stern with myself. I got extremely high-hopes, I also got wet eyes and a dry
throat. And a whole heap of rhymes that I wrote. So give me time on my own, no shit - no
give me people to talk to - Im going mad and Im weak-willed - keep still, breathe quietly - I
NEED RECOVERY. Somebody cuddle me please, time on my own. no, no I need people to
talk to, Im going mad and Im weak willed - keep still, breathing very quietly - I NEED
RECOVERY.
Man, Ive been awake all night just writing, sick of myself, fighting the urge to get rid of
myself. So exposed, that Ive hidden myself. Honestly, I cant live with myself, Ive been
awake all night just writing, sick of myself, fighting the urge to get rid of myself, man I cant

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stop giving myself a hard time. Why? because I cant stop giving. Fuck, I cant stop talking.
Man, Im lost in this give, take. Now its sun rise and youre eyes are a cliff face. I fall off every
morning, Yes Im appaling, so calm me down. Give me kind words or something, put your
arms around me, because your heart beat drowned mine out since you found me. So give me
some space, no wait. Come here, crowd me.
Yulia Davey

Third Prize
The evocative poem Space and Time describes the passion of love and loss, hope and destruction. Full
of powerful imagery, it stirs up emotions in all of us that we sometimes would rather be without, but
that will always be an integral part of our lives, through space and time. Congratulations Sydney, on
your brilliant piece.

Space and Time

flames.
unbearable heat, climbing up my back,
my shoulders,
my neck.
all i remember of you is a blur.
a moment caught in a surreal past
a perfect, unreal slice of time
that i can't quite reach in my mind's eye.
but you
bold, strong
with a perfectly imperfect soul
one i don't need to see to know.
oceans, lands, worlds between us
and i'm still proud of you.
of everything you do.
what i feel is a clear, high-definition picture
one that you've shredded too thin
colorful strips of affection,
saying its better this way.
you hide in your fortress,
the same walls you told me id demolished.
but my words were only bricks to help you rebuild it.
you take the blame,
but you wont let me fight.
how much is pity
and how much is truth?

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youve let go of my hand
but i dont want to be free.
a black hole in my chest
collapsing, devouring
and it was never my choice to kill a star inside my heart.
Sydney Evans

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POETRY

DARLING
Darling, Im a broken record
Speaking the words youve already heard the beat of the same sad music.
I am unoriginal.
Breaking myself in half just to please you,
To make you feel good.
Ill be your ladder to the top,
Bringing you fame, fortune and success on the back of my own mistakes
Hurting myself so much it aches.
All over.
Sore from the hard days, or hard sex,
Cause I cant tell the difference.
High on the scent of your skin cause youre my own personalized brand of
drug.
My heroin, my weed, cocaine
Smoking blunts rolled with bills I cannot pay,
Begging, pleading for you to stay.
Writing novels between your hip-bones
Making constellations out of birthmarks
Kissing scars.
Youre perfect, and Im a mess
Stressed, but I digress
I can pass any test of love you choose.
Musing, confusing abuse with love,
And love with intoxication
But baby, you are my inspiration
And I cant imagine life without you
So I rather die because of you,
Than die without you.
Sophia Greenblat

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POETRY

Circumstances, a note on society

Ive been changed,
Crafted by what has happened around me, to me.
They stare at this strange commuter in white cotton rolls.
Why should they care?
It hasnt affected them, yet they still do it
The effects of this will become a small part of their daily lives.
This incident,
why should it affect so much?
People stare, I stare back, their gaze is forced to drop.
Mohit Kumar

A Snag
Excitement. Victory. Success. safety.
Snag. Trip. Dream? Pain.
Pain! Pain! Faint...Seat
Helpless and broken, I waited.
Leaking red all over.
Kind people ask to help Hello. How bad is it?
Is this alright or do you want something else?
Yes it is. He almost fainted again. The address is
With flashing blue lights, help arrives.
Mohit Kumar

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POETRY

Destructive Impulses
Well snap the stems of fragile flowers
Ponder the cracks in shattered glass
Enjoy the ends of crumbling towers
Reflect on how we too shall pass.
We love the satisfying snap
Of breaking sticks, of cracking ice
The gentle pops of bubble wrap
Were captured by dainty demise.
It seems that since we leave the womb
Especially for minds not agile
Our impulses draw us to doom
God, my veins never looked so fragile
Karolina Zydelyte

Fading
something starting to go wrong
a once-high ego not as strong
and i am worth less
an illusion disappears
unnerved aura, foreign fears
and i am worth less
a worldview violently dislodged
reality no longer dodged
and i am worth less
realisation comes upon
that everyone prefers one gone
and i am worth less
now unable to achieve
any chances now i thieve
undeserving, stupid, rough
knowing i am not enough
all i touch i just pollute
intact vocal chords now mute
and i am worthless
Karolina Zydelyte

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POETRY

Inevitable Journeys
An odd affair that cannot be
Once started it is over
Tis one we all must start, you See!
Youll know when You are older
A lover more Needy you cant find
For this Lover takes your all
Leaves your feathered Hopes behind
You cannot avoid His Call!
Join the Endless Lane of Chance!
But forget that early morning air
That Crispness that would always dance
Across chapped lips and through your hair.
You cannot walk where he cant reach
But not too soon, my friend, please wait
Hell come In Time! To all and each
And invite You through his gate.
Youll join the stream that trips to him
Already filled with many and All
Those that Hop, that Crawl or Swim
And those You dont recall.
Put off this union while you can
He is a needy spouse For once you follow out his plan
You forever leave Our House

Karolina Zydelyte

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POETRY

My Drug
I am so sad,
yet I am parking it as anger.
Because its the only emotion
I can harbour.
Everything else is pathetic
Its simply exhausting.
And yes it takes a poet,
to project it.
What you feel
Is put on paper
Tumblr,
Instagram or Facebook.
Rather then a personal diary kept
in your locker.
You show it off for others to ahah! uh-oh
and fill their bellies with joy.
Thank god I don't feel that way said every blogger
scrolling through my Tumblr.
We keep scrolling until, we by any change find something better.
And no longer feel the need to harbour our emotions in the
public school toilet.
Which we consistently, do every fucking day.
Until weve done it so many times
Everyday becomes a struggle, to even get out of bed.
and face all the faces only 2 feet away asking
are you ok?
Where have you been?
Fuck off. Just go away. I will pick up a pen and paper, regardless of your behaviour.
And try and explain to you,
want cant be explained.
So the next time we feel pathetic
theres no need to scroll, school, even hold it in.
Because the pain is put on paper. And now its out there
Published, Posted, Seen.
Yulia Davey

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POETRY

Losing Battles
Lets accept defeat. We have fought bravely, but this is goodbye
Well always have the memories; no one can take away the dances weve already had
It is the end because I loved you with all I have and you loved me with all you could spare
I am not bitter that you broke my heart because I know I am responsible for giving you a part of me
It is the end, not because we lack love, but because we lack everything else
I shall think of you rarely, but I will think of you warmly. Even lost wars are worth remembering.

Mathilde Hjertholm Nielsen

My everyday frustrations
My everyday frustrations
Are less appealing than yours
I took your sunshine
And stuck it in my pocket
In my jacket
Where stolen things are hid
And that kid
This kid
Gets caught mid-thievery
And you start to scream
And they start to scream
And everyone is screaming
But no one can hear over all that screaming
So my hand slips from yours in all the commotion
And there I go running
With my pockets full
Of your stolen sunshine.
Lara Jakobsen

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POETRY

The nights only so long

The nights only so long
And the day brings responsibility
But the day has a way to go
So we sit on this hilltop
And curse the world while no ones listening
Well be anarchists for twelve hours
Our vendetta will be this
And once the sun comes up
Itll be no more
But when the nights back
Well meet on our hilltop
And curse and curse
Till one of us runs out of breath.
Lara Jakobsen

You look me in the eyes

You look me in the eyes
And see your own reflection
But I only see mine in yours
Youve changed your pace
And only slow when its mentioned
We walk hand in hand
But is this hand-holding for a reason
Or reason for hand-holding
I cant say I know you
You could say the same
So we choose not to say at all
But quiet is good
Quiet is what makes this bearable
So lets just hold hands for now
Reason can come later.
Lara Jakobsen

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POETRY

Europa
And though those nations do still stand
Or most of them at least,
They do still bicker over their land
And can sometimes fight each other.

The castles line the old borders

Of all the ancient countries
That once ruled over all that land
And fought against each other.

Nicolai Haekkerup
Years they passed and kingdoms grew
In power and wealth aplenty
And they tried to take more land,
And so they fought each other.
The kings they had divine power
And ruled over many people,
But they still wanted more land
So they couldnt stop fighting each other.
Religion, it was a great power
That ruled beside the kings
And the head, he had his own land
And drove men to fight the heathens.
But many did dispute the head
And his right to be so wealthy
So they raised up arms across the land
And a great fight soon began.
The kingdoms then sought another place
To take and call it theirs,
For the world was large, there was more
land
And more foreigners to fight.
The land was claimed and trade did grow,
For goods could be found in plenty
And empires grew and took more land
And fought great ancient cultures.
A few of the kingdoms did survive,
But most were lost to others
And over the time the empires shrunk in
land,
As they fought against each other.
The kingdoms changed to republics,
Through much blood and fury
And two great wars on their lands
Were fought to the bitter end.

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POETRY

Autumn
A leaf falls
Under the trees
Trailing slowly down
Under the trees
Moving away
Now gone.
Nicolai Haekkerup

Leaf
Lofty and high
Emptying colour
And falling,
Falling.
Nicolai Haekkerup

Fireworks
Flaring away
Into the sky
Roaring and
Exploding
Wonderful light
Over the ground
Reaching all around
King of the heavens
Soaring away.
Nicolai Haekkerup

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POETRY

Pretenders
We slip inside our predetermined shells
Presentable while our souls lie restrained
We smolder each in our private hells
Cowering lest our demons get unchained.
You get pursued if you just show your face
Society pouncing on every flaw
We hide in fear of falling to disgrace
We hide in fear of seeing others raw.
Unquestioning we live as we are told
A pre-planned empty path thats set in stone
And as our lives heat up our hearts grow cold
And in the end we end up all alone.
Youll find you only see us humans grow
When we relax and finally let go.
Karolina Zydelte

Sleeping Pandemonium
Pearly scales standing up on edge and pointing out majestic structure,
Rough skin lying underneath. If scales were to shed a wrinkled pink dermis would be seen
Claws and jaws alike, although one was black and hanging off the edge of toes while the other
was white and glued to pink gums.
Nostrils large and monstrous, breathing out soft smoke through a snore
A heavy tail swishing and scraping the floor with each sigh.
An abundance of large limbs curled up into the innocence of slumber.
Long eyelashes twitching amongst the rhythm of a dream
Heavy breath and quiet threats
Sophie Earl

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Sonnet 29 - (After Shakespeares Sonnet 29)

When, I sit here and try and explain to you
what cant be explained.
I name my poetry with minimalistic rage.
Poem 18,29,130 the list goes on.
All of a sudden your face is the only thing my blind eyes can see.
I curse my fate when I think of you, I look upon myself and begin to cry
wishing I could be as thin, pretty, creative and as cool as you.
you have all the men and all the women
wishing you werent gay
and still while I sit here envious
I think haply on thee.
(insert powerful image of an insignificant animal)
and now that you are so empowered,
I no longer appear as a coward.
Yulia Davey

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POETRY

Space Exploration
Almost a villanelle
Space travel, exciting though it might be:
Sending probes through interplanetary space,
Humanitys sustainability must we first guarantee.
Our many downfalls do not bring us glee
We cannot our wealth-inequality embrace
Space travel, exciting though it might be.
Low earth orbit is cluttered with debris.
Now that we are done with the first space race,
Humanitys sustainability must we first guarantee.
Investing our resources appropriately is the key.
to solve our problems; our children not to disgrace.
Space travel, exciting though it might be.
Plastic patches are collecting in the sea
Before we put Mars colonists in place.
Humanitys sustainability must we first guarantee.
Though we cannot our future foresee
Our resources mustnt be spent out of place
Space travel, exciting though it might be.
Humanitys sustainability must we first guarantee.
Mohit Kumar

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POETRY
Tambourine
Her slippers
of her time
Slide softly against the hardwood floor
As she dances to the rhythm of silence
Her robe
gently caresses her ankles
those that may peer through their
opera spectacles
and wish her tightly
woven body be ever changing
in a mould of transparency
shant tear
the fabric
of her
tambourine
Freya Lindroos

Why do you evade my loving grasp?

I cannot fathom why you should escape
I must hold you in a tighter clasp
So that my claws against your mind would scrape
Shatter all coherency away
Survive in your dull world of black and white
I am taking you up in my sway
And you will not resist because Im right
Without me you are worthless, obsolete
Only sadness strong enough to feel
Why, I do not think you should even eat
For fear of growing fat from every meal
You cannot feel or think or do or care
While you are captured in my tangled snare

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Chaos
When the shadows come in through the mountains,
The skies start turning into gray
Colors change and fade to darkness
Going to where nothing lay
Green the fields littered with corpses
Blood flows between the blades of grass
Chaos flows in through the forests
Existence shatters like a glass
Pieter Middledorp

Identity
Why me? Surely this must happen to most people.
A sudden incident
unlooked for, unexpected.
Causing a drastic change
Undesired, unwanted.
Identity? I am a person unable to do what I once did.
Adjusting to that fact
Uneasy repetitive behaviour
For I can no longer do
what I once did!
Sport, play, food; these dreams begin to leave me.
I have become a new self
My identity is lost
without a chance to
redefine any aspect of my life.
Identity? No harm is done by losing mine
Ill get it back. Hopefully
I slowly become more able
The dreams are back, I must still resist
For though I am transforming into what I once was
For now, I am my new self.
Mohit Kumar

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POETRY
Jane bought six additional glasses for wine,
Though all her older ones were perfectly fine.
She had too much crockery.
Some felt it a mockery,
For this was, of consumerism, a sign
Mohit Kumar
Loading
a promise held within
the little spinning wheel
pledging to share
~its wonders~
beg it not to give up...
still. it. whirls!
infuriating!!!! blankness!!!!
error
Karolina Zydelte
Realizations
Profound thoughts
We near enlightenment
We are the first, the only
To know so well
In only our minds, the seeds of understanding
Are germinating
Growing
The answers to lifes mysteries bloom with radiant petals
And were unique in this nirvana.
O sweet clever thing
Try and look from afar
And realize youre already in a colorful meadow
Quit your pretension and enjoy!
Regardless of your cognition
Life carries on clockwise.
Karolina Zydelte

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What do you mean you want to take your

life?
The world is wide you have so many chances
I know that it seems dull and full of strife
But you cannot dwell on backwards glances.
You can live in any way you want
Though everybody tries to put you down
The future loves to threaten and to daunt
Authority to look on you and frown.
Were all heading towards the same old end
The bell to mark demise will someday sound
Though all the facets you can try to bend
Were all going to end up underground.
Come on keep going in this living hell
Oh fuck it; can I have a pill as well?
Karolina Zydelte

Where do we go when we go to the place?

Where do we go when we go to the place?
that simply is no place at all
When we step out of time to become nothing more
than a memory only few can recall.
How can we be when we no longer are?
Or may never yet have been.
A bit of eternity sits in our souls
though we live in the house of the sky.
Unconsciousness comes like a stranger
that turns light to dark
Where i may come from and where it may go
Is a wonder that lies behind a closed door.
Maria Jarlbk

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POETRY

Her occupation is everlasting

Her occupation is everlasting
The posture shadow casting
Her arrival cant be postponed
But it will surely be bemoaned
With the clerical bells relentlessly blasting.
Tosia Tamborska

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BLACK & WHITE PHOTOGRAPHY

First Prize
War Trauma, Mariam Hawath

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BLACK & WHITE PHOTOGRAPHY

Second Prize
Teo Della Torre

Third Prize
The Scene, Chris Nielsen
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BLACK & WHITE PHOTOGRAPHY

Honourable Mention
Artbikewheel, Freya Lindroos

Honourable Mention
Sun, Julie Woldbye-Lyng

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GALLERY
Julie Woldbye-Lyng, Maria Jarlbk, Mariam Hawath, Sophia Greenblat, Sophie Achiam, Teo Della Torre

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BLACK & WHITE PHOTOGRAPHY

96

Labyrinth

NONFICTION

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NON-FICTION
The fiction section was mar Full of insights into
the heart's world, and moving reflections on joys
and sorrows, this year's non-fiction section is a
gallery of tender descriptions and powerful
speeches. The authors carefully open their hearts
to the reader, as they share thoughts. emotions
and sentiments.

stifling conformity and socially acceptable

racism), but ultimately there are a few things
I will vehemently deny. (We dont all love
liquorice and crime series. Ive never even
seen an episode of Borgen!).

Life in Denmark

I agree that the Danes are

maddeningly similar, yet when I go to the
States Im frustrated by the fact that all
houses have the exact same cookie-cutter
look. Comparing the two countries is
fascinating. Im pre dansk, yet I feel a
certain kinship to America. When I was a kid
I memorized all of the past presidents in
order, and I still know the state locations and
capitals off by heart, but Ill gladly rant
about the racial and gender issues the US is
failing to tackle properly. I love to ridicule
the US but I also dream of living there. Its
like having a friend you insist you dont like,
yet you constantly spend time with her. Its a
guilty pleasure. An anthropological interest.
Say what you like.

We Danes are enigmas. My personal

Danishness is complex and erratic. Until I
moved to Iceland Id never even considered
how my culture was perceived across the
globe; perhaps that is a mark of the Danish
keep your head down attitude, or maybe
of the lesser-known, underlying egotism of
the North.

My dad loves to make fun of the

Danes. What he loves even more is making
fun of the US. Their blind respect for the
troops, for starters, or their obsession with
talking about freedom as if theyre the only
country in the world that have it. I think its
bizarre. To my friends, my love of
flskesvr is just as peculiar. Touch.

Being around international peers

during my teenage years has made me notice
(and appreciate) some of the things I would
have otherwise taken for granted in my own
culture: casually calling everyone by their
first names whether they be teachers,
parents, or friends, biking everywhere at any
time, and the substantial freedom of being
able to stay out all night or obtain drugs,
alcohol, and cigarettes no matter your age. (I
know this part isnt all good; hugs not
drugs!).

I despise it when people make

sweeping generalizations about my country,
and even more so, when they lump together
all of Scandinavia. My dad has told me there
is an old saying in Denmark: In Sweden,
they hate the Norwegians but love the
Danes. In Norway, they hate the Swedes, but
love the Danes. In Denmark, we bloody hate
them all! I live by that, yet I love
Scandinavia.
I
will
support
antiNorway/Sweden rhetoric only if it is in the
context of flattering Denmark. Otherwise, I
stand by my Northern neighbours. Its a lot
like sibling rivalry. Ill fight with my sister
because shes lame and Im much cooler, but
if someone else tries to criticize her Ill
defend her to the death because shes my

The reader wanders and floats on these waters of

depth and meaning that flow from the complexity
of the authors hearts and minds.
Personal essays on sunset villages, breathless
roller-coaster rides, descriptions of timeless
scenery and potent addressings of social problems
will effectively capture the reader and open
unforgettable doorways.

First Prize

I am so intrigued by Danes and how

they are viewed, that I have read a few
books on the subject. They all point out some
unpleasant truths I must accept (such as the

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NON-FICTION
sister and shes great! (Copenhagen is still,
however, the true capital of Scandinavia, not
Stockholm. Nice try Sweden. )

religion, nor do they think about it. When I

asked my mother if she believed in God she
shrugged and said shed never really
considered it. I cant imagine youd get a
response like that across the Atlantic.

I have my own interpretation of the

Jante Lov, because Im convinced people
have been getting it all wrong. We Danes
dont cut down people who rise above the
rest of us. Were just all so conceited and
egocentric that we dont notice anyone else
and so its not really possible to rise above
others. To put it in a milder sense, we just
dont believe things like money or looks
have any effect on your value as a person
and so we dont think anyone is better than
us in any damn way. Why not? Well, to
think in that way is totally nonsensical, and
we are maddeningly rational. Since people
arent worried about being better than
others, they dont aim to stand out by rising
up above others, and so they settle for a
content and peaceful, albeit average, life. Life
in Denmark is lived without extremes. Its
not too shabby.

People often call Denmark classless.

We have had the best gini co-efficiency
several times over the past few years. Yet
any Dane can tell you about the differences
in life on Zealand and in Jutland. Often, I can
tell whether someone is from Nrrebro or
Hellerup based solely on his or her clothing.
Where Im from, among the youth, we think
those in the next town over are snobs, yet
our attitude of superiority is snobbish in
itself. My sister classifies her groups of
acquaintances by which town theyre from.
Theres the Lyngby, Vedbk and Nrum
girls.
In Denmark, Ive always felt like an
outsider looking in, despite being born and
raised here. I spend more time looking for
cultural insights than socializing with my
Danish peers. For some time I was convinced
there was a club all the Danish kids were a
part of, yet I never received an invite. Maybe
it got lost in the mail. Either way, Im still
fiercely proud of my Danishness when it
comes down to it. (I probably should
mention, though, that I jumped at the first
chance I got to move to the US. Im leaving
for New York in August to do my Diploma
Programme. See ya suckers!).

Thats what I love about Denmark,

but its also why I want to leave. I love the
concept of equality, but I have never felt like
a part of it. I took a personality test once and
it classified me as the visionary type.
These arent the people who fare well in
Denmark.
Religion in Denmark is an enigma
inside of an enigma. We are a secular folk,
yet we dont have separation of church and
state. Most Danes get married in a church
and nearly all kids get confirmed. If you
asked your average Jens why that is, theyd
probably tell you its for hyggens sake. Even
within our Christian traditions it is very rare
youll hear anyone mentioning God. We
dont know that guy, so we let him be.

Mathilde Hjertholm-Nielsen

Religion is taught in all public Danish

middle and high schools. As a kid, we had
field trips to the church several times a year.
That wouldnt fly in an American school. Yet
Americans, and even Brits, are constantly
talking about God. Danes dont talk about

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waterproof jackets and pants begin to gather
the supplies, and head to the side of their
boats. Eager to learn about the days catch
the watermen strain their bodies over the
side of the boats and pull up the crab traps
by their dark slimy and mossy-stained ropes.
As the crabs emerge from the now calm
water they tumble to the bottom of the rusty
metalled trap like a group of prisoners
fearing what will come next. As this goes on
a whiff of old seaweed that smells like rotten
eggs gags many of the watermen as they
struggle to grip the wet and rusty traps. Just
then a high-pitched alarm blares from one of
the rooms. Now hearing doors open and
close I look one last time out the old
windows to the forest and the water, then
turn away.

Joint Second Prize

A Place
On the morning of July 3 , 2012, I sat gazing
out at the Miles River through the dusty
veranda windows of my grandparents
living room. My grandparents live right
outside the small picturesque town of St.
Michaels on their 20-acre property, densely
wooded by dark oak and pine trees. I
frequently forced myself to wake up early in
the morning, around 7:00, as this was when
the river and the forest around the house
were alive. At this time you could just sit
down quietly by yourself on the comfy and
cozy Bermuda red couches that were
scattered throughout the house with an icecold cup of Ocean Spray Cranberry juice and
stare intently at the lush scenery outside.
Out on the nicely trimmed front lawn a
morning herd of deer stroll through and
make their way towards the flowers and
bushes outlining the hard, rough-cut stone
patio. They approach cautiously with their
heads bent low to enable their moist noses to
sniff and feel the bushes first. Their leader, a
muscular brown-furred male deer with an
enormous array of brown-stained antlers,
continues to let out a low-pitched, staggering
cry as he gnaws on some of the smooth,
mint-scented herbs that lie throughout the
yard. With the windows only cracked
slightly open, the deers odor and sweat rush
into the room and linger like a pesky fruit fly
or a mosquito eager to annoy. Not after long,
though, the soothing smell of brackish water
from the river, combined with the deep
fragrance of the pine trees, returns.
As I look towards Miles River I
observe the wooden-hulled watermens
boats cutting a foamy wake through the
water. As their boats gain speed the vessels
seem to glide across the water, performing
small jumps when they hit the miniature
waves too fast. As they get to their
designated fishing and crabbing grounds the
hums and buzzes of the motors fade and
watermen in their bright yellow and red
rd

Joint Second Prize

Let me guess, youve got the wrong
plug?
Imagine this situation. You have just arrived
at an airport and need to take a connecting
flight. It goes in five hours, so you decide to
recharge your laptop. You go to the power
outlet, but then, disaster! The plug on your
cable does not match the power outlet. What
are you to do? Many people may not even
need to imagine this situation, because they
have lived through it time and again. Do you
know how many plugs there are in the
world? Twelve! Those are only the main
ones There are dozens of other small
obscure types.
It all began in the late 1800s when Thomas
Edison discovered electricity. He had two
options: either use 110 volts or 240. The 240
volts provides much more power, but 110
volts is safer. Edison opted for the 110.
Meanwhile, Edisons rival, Nikola Tesla,
decided to use 240 volts. The US
immediately decided to use the 110 volts,
while Europe began using Teslas 240 volts.
Herein lies the first issue. Lets say you have
an American computer that runs on 110
volts. If you use that computer in Europe

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NON-FICTION
without converting the voltage, then it could
explode! Eventually, the US realised that 240
volts was quite safe, but by then so much
would have had to be changed that the US
deemed it too expensive.
When electronics started becoming really
popular people realised they had a problem.
It was difficult for regular people to connect
the devices to the electricity in their homes.
Some people then began developing ways in
which the average person could successfully
and safely connect their devices. In the US,
Harvey Hubbell created the first plug for use
in an outlet. A few years later, Philip Labre
added a third prong to the plug in order to
make it more stable. However, people in
other countries were also doing this, so by
the time plugs became ordinary there were
dozens of different types all over the world.
The UK then also created a new type of plug
but forgot to spread it to its former colonies
like India and Australia, meaning they now
use the old British plug. This just makes
things even more confusing. The only good
thing about having many types of plugs is
that we learn what works and what doesnt.
If we had just had one type of plug from the
beginning, we might not have as advanced
plugs as we do today.
There is one last problem with the plugs.
This lies in the stability prong Philip Labre
invented. Many plugs have this prong, but
not all. This means that some outlets do not
leave space for the stability prong, and so if
you want to recharge your device at such an
outlet but you have a stability prong, you
cannot. Many people simply rip off the extra
prong and use the plug as if it had never had
it. Stability, however, is useful. It helps
prevent the plug disconnecting from the
outlet and can even prevent the plug from
breaking. Stability, though, is mainly a
hindrance because it means the plug cannot
always be used, even if the outlet is of the
same type as the plug. The only way to
mend this is by making all the outlets the
same, stability or no stability.
There are many issues with the plugs we use
today. The greatest problem though, is that
there is a seemingly insurmountable number

of different types of plugs used all over the

world. Oh, but it gets worse. In some
countries, there are several types of plugs,
which means the outlet in your hotel room
may require a different plug from the one in
the restaurant across the street.
There is currently one solution to this grand
problem: converters. These do two things;
change the plug to that of the resident
country and convert 240 volts to 110, or vice
versa. They sometimes also have room for
the stability. These, however, cost money.
Not a large sum by any means, but money
nonetheless. The only other solution is to
make one uniform plug, one plug for the
entire world. This would, however, spark a
great debate as each country (or at least most
of them) would want their plug to be the one.
The only way to make it fair would be to
create a new plug. The problem with this is
that every single plug and outlet currently
existing in the world would have to be
replaced. This would require an almost
innumerable sum of money just to spare
people from buying converters. Its unlikely
that it will ever happen, but until it does
well just have to stick our hands in our
pockets and pay for the converters.
Nicolai Hkkerup

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NON-FICTION
grow up and make it out of this town. The
township is perpetually falling apart;
however, the people of the township always
seem happy. Some of the time they are angry
, but they never hold a grudge and they
always walk around with a smile on their
face. The women walk around carrying
buckets of water on their heads, smiling, and
they always say hello to you as you walk
by. Although the place has many problems,
there is no shortage of happiness to be seen
when you are walking along the red dust
dirt track of this little town called Mamelodi.

Third Prize
Writing about Place
The sun slowly fades away as the red dust
scatters along the ground. People are just
finishing work and moving back to their
living quarters. The houses are tin shacks
built from old car parts and various metals
people scavenged. They could house up to
ten people at a time, the children sprawled
along the floor trying to sleep so they could
study the next day and have a chance to get
themselves out of this poverty-stricken town.
The childrens bare feet are scarred and sore.
Shoes are unaffordable and most kids have
only a few clothes. The houses have 2 rooms
each: a kitchen and a room where they all
sleep. The kitchen has stacks of cheap clay
pots for storing food. Bags of maize scatter
across the kitchen half-opened. There is one
table in the middle of the room where
everyone eats their food. The table is cracked
and dented as if someone threw twenty
knives at it. It is rough and hard and eight
children eat their meals here everyday. The
food is bland and barely nutritious. It is
mostly pap, made from ground maize, and it
tastes like a foam mattress, but it is cheap
and affordable unlike most other food.

Ryan Stoltz

Honourable Mention
With a strike of a match, the tenebrous room
is illuminated with a radiant, fluorescent
light. The flame trembles vigorously in the
midst of the brisk night, as it races down the
matchstick.
The
diminishing,
timber
matchstick swiftly advances to the onyxcharred wick that had been submerged into
the hardened candle wax. The two collide,
only to kindle a rich and bisque flame. It
sparks and grows. Everything is quiet at
first, not a soul whispering or moving; just
silence and time passing by. The mauvecoloured candle starts to deliquesce from the
overwhelming fieriness of the blaze. An
impeccably curved cylindric shaped glass is
sitting on the old window sill, next to an
open window. All you can feel is the heat
starting to emerge from the flame. And an
icy sensation creeping within. As the crisp
breeze of the autumn night drifts in through
the open window, the flame flickers and
dances like a beaming ballerina. The
shadows fluctuate as the flame flounces
around in the scorching melted wax. The city
is asleep, and all you can hear in between the
sounds of the soft wafts of wind and
crackling candlelight is the piercing silence.
The silence is roaring, it is louder than the
sound of fireworks erupting in the sky. The
sound is inevitable and never-ending like
time and space. It drifts in the air and sends
shivers down your spine. A lingering aroma

The whole area has a distinctive smell of dirt

and smoke. Through the houses you can
smell the smoke drifting in the air. There are
many fires burning every night for various
reasons, such as cooking, burning plastic
waste, and warmth. The worst of all is the
burnt plastic. This has a smell from a blend
of chemicals that makes you feel terrible. It
smells as if someone burnt a lollipop and
made you eat it. The sickly smells are
accompanied by the terrible sounds of the
township. People are yelling and screaming
at each other. You can hear the whoosh of
fires in the distance and the gritty sound of
car engines revving up to leave this town.
During the day you can hear the little kids
screaming and playing in the dusty park.
Little do they know that only a few will

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of exhilarating lavender revitalises the whole
room, leaving behind a soothing ambiance,
and disregarding the torturous silence that
lingers with it. A bitter taste of lavender
roams the air. A step into the room is a step
into escaping presence. A step into finding
clarity and placidity. A step into observing
the divine reflections and golden beams
emerging from the flame. The light dodging
every shadow synchronically with the flame,
only to make the shadow harmonise. The
flame subtle at first, and then trembling
aggressively all at once, as if in a solid tug of
war with the wind, brawling to stay ignited.
The flame tenacious and persistent, not
willing to relinquish over the battle. At the
same time, the wind tugging relentlessly not
capitulating until the flame finally collapses.
With a burst of wind, the flame perishes,
leaving behind nothing but the smell of
smoke, and the thundering silence, followed
by the gloomy, bleak darkness.

leisurely. I see the continuous ocean that

once was believed to stop at the end of the
horizon, and a fifty-seven year-old fivemetre wooden diving board hammered into
the island rock. This floods the familys
diving history, as it was my grandfathers
very own creation.
I walk five steps, still feeling the wet bikini
cling to my skin, and I am ahead of the
staggering diving board, smelling the faint
odour of old wood. My dry hands reaches to
the rough wooden rails. Using my only hand
I grasp the rails so firmly that my knuckles
are ultimately white. I pull my body up, 43
kg, to the tremendously large stair step.
Between all the steps upwards to the diving
board, there are huge gaps. I look down
already, seeing the seaweed huddled to the
rocks, with barnacles adhering to the shore. I
take additional steps, catching glimpses of
the ocean getting deeper and deeper, which I
can tell, by the ocean colour, blue, gradually
transforming darker. I feel the cool wind
brush my back, coolingly reminding me I
still need to scramble my way up to the top. I
have my two-week old pink painted toes,
which have already begun to chip off,
leaning across the edge of the rusty board.
The board has miniature gaps between each
wooden plate, permitting the wind that
passes by to lightly brush the bottom of my
feet, sending tickly vibes right through my
body. I stare at my arms and legs.
Goosebumps with my white hair sticking up
like static electricity inflicted, have already
formed entirely over my body. It is not only
the wind that triggers this physical reaction,
but the endorphins that are scrambling
across my unflawed body, electrified to
jump. The seagulls are screeching, making
prompt shadows above me. The Ocean is
thirsty for me, eagerly waiting. I take a deep
breath and hold it, look down and suppress
a grin. I jump off, bring out my arms like an
eagle, and the speed forms tears in the
corner of my eyes. The ocean grabs me and
the cool water rushes up my body.
Underwater, it bubbles in every corner,
tickling the back of my ears. The water

Aiman Zaheer

Honourable Mention
Sweet Escape
I sit my body down, dripping with fresh
ocean water to the rock surface. I outspread
my body into a star formation, allowing the
warmth from the rock to loom into my body
with delight and soothingness. I look up, the
cloud clear sky is ravishing blue, with the
sun shining like a dime in the right corner of
my eye, symbolising the evening that I am
present in. I can hear the soft waves crash
discreetly around the island that I am lying
upon. The island consists of nothing else but
the rock itself and me. Just a mighty rock, the
size of a house of two-hundred meter
squared. The heat is intense, the ocean
dribbles along my body has evaporated, and
now sweat is trickling down my neck and
forehead. I shut my eyelids, breathing
heavily in and out ten times. The last breath I
inhale, is the deepest of all, feeding my
whole body with relaxation and a taste of
utter luxury. I stand up, and revolve once,

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sparkles like Pellegrino and Im already
tasting the sea salt. And I am forever lost, in
my sweet escape.

Health.GOV 95% of those people are from

the ages 12-25. Developing anorexia as a teen
is particularly dangerous. It not only causes
you to become weak and tired and stops
your organs from working properly, it can
cause the loss of bone and muscle mass. It
also affects the natural growth and
development because of the lack of nutrition.

Live Hvik

Anorexia and the Perception of Beauty

It is especially dangerous, long term, if you

are under the age of 16, and you suffer from
anorexia. This is because you need nutrition
for your body to grow and develop, and if
you are starving yourself, your body wont
get its fuel to keep developing in healthy
conditions. Only 60% of people with
anorexia ever fully recover.

Junk food? Fat.

Calories? Fat.
Food? Fat.
Water? Fat.
Sarah goes to the Anorexia Nervosa and
Associated Disorders School for teens. Sarah,
who is only 12 years old, is the youngest girl
in the under 16 department who suffers from
anorexia. It has gotten so serious that she
wont even drink water, because she thinks
shell gain fat. She only weighs 25 kg, when
the average for a 12 year old girl is 40kg.

Others will suffer from long term conditions

such as:

I am here today to raise awareness of a

common disease, one that many teens suffer
from. Anorexia Nervosa is an eating
disorder, a physical and mental disease that
is most commonly caused by societys image
of perfection and being skinny. What does
being skinny even mean? Is it a good or a
bad thing? Im fat, is the statement that
recurs in the minds of the Anorexia patients.
They think they will be judged for their
clothes size, if they have a flat stomach, if
they have a thigh gap, if their bones show.
How many of you have friends that diet, or
worry about their weight? There are many
teens who search for help on how to diet and
how to lose weight.

Weakness,
fragile
bones
(osteoporosis) and problems with
physical development.

Sexual problems including absent

periods and infertility in women; it
can even lower your sex drive and
can cause erectile dysfunction for
men.

Problems with the heart and blood

vessels which can result in poor
circulation, an irregular heartbeat,
low blood pressure and heart failure.

You
can
get
seizures
and
concentration issues and memory
loss.

Millions of people suffer from this fatal

disease to get skinny and look perfect. Did
you know 100% of people in this world are
beautiful, and dont have to change their
looks? You dont have to skip meals or
obsess over your weight because you are
beautiful.

Ana (Anorexia), as the teens call her

nowadays, is an icon for a lot of girls. There
is a page on the internet, where girls write to
Ana, asking her for advice on how to become
skinny by denying themselves a healthy diet
and only taking in enough to get you
through your day.
Ana is not the only anorexic of her age, quite
the contrary. According to Womans

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Euthanasia should be used in hospitals in the
entire world. However, this does not mean
that doctors should kill every patient that is
in a difficult situation. Euthanasia should be
the last resort, after it is clear that the patient
will not survive. It should not become an
excuse for doctors to start causing mass
murders. Euthanasia would also only be
carried out on patients that wish to end their
lives. The consent of the patient is necessary,
as well as a confirmation that the disease
they are suffering from is indeed terminal.

Mercy or Murder?
Euthanasia is when a patient that is suffering
from a terminal disease wishes to end his
life, and a doctor then allows the patient to
die. This is a much debated topic as
euthanasia has not been legalized in most of
the world. However, it is my firm belief that
euthanasia should be legalized. It is a better
way to end ones life than to die of the
disease that you are suffering from.
It is not worth living with all the pain that
terminal diseases can bring. The patient will
die anyway, or else the disease wouldnt be
terminal. It is a better, painless, way to die
than to go through all the agony of the
disease before it eventually claims your life.
It prevents pain, and it also allows you to die
with dignity.
Whether a patient dies or not should be their
own choice. A patient should have the right
to die if they wish to do so. You should be
allowed to take control of your own life, and
decide what you wish to happen to yourself.
It is a way to be released from the world of
misery that these diseases can bring, away
from all the pain and despair.
If the patients are denied the right to die
then they will continue receiving treatment
for a situation that is not going to improve.
They will eventually die, and then the
hospitals will have had to pay for all the care
and treatment the patients received, even
though they were going to die. With
euthanasia these fees would not exist, and
this money could be used to help other
patients that may yet survive.
One argument against euthanasia is that
some people could try to pressure patients to
consent to euthanasia even if their disease is
not terminal. This must not be allowed to
happen. A way around this would be to put
strict rules for the use of euthanasia. It must
only be used in cases where the disease is
terminal. Psychological tests will also be put
in place to make sure that patients have not
had their decision greatly affected by loss of
hope and despair.

Nicolai Haekkerup

Character Sketch: Mirror Mirror on

the Wall whos the Cutest Baby of
them
When I walk through the door, the sound of
an ecstatic giggle hits me. I hear a shuffle in
the distance beginning to verge upon me.
Tap! My eye catches a glimpse of a
familiar, petite and tawny coloured hand
landing through the doorway. My 11 and a
half month old cousin scrabbles into the
room and burnishes the ambience like a
candle. His charming two-teethed smile
warms my heart. His plump, and olive
coloured cheeks protrude with exhilaration,
as his big brown eyes light up, and lustre
with joy. I pick him up, and hes as
imponderous as a feather. He wraps his tiny,
swarthy, yet chubby fingers around the
strands of my charcoal hair, ready to yank it
with all his inadequate strength. He hangs
on to my hair like a child holding on to their
blanket. As I tell him, give me a kiss, he
innocently pulls his open mouth to my left
cheek and makes a buhhh sound.
Leaving my cheek wet and slobbery,
alongside leaving me with a sense of rare
delightfulness. As I put him down, I watch
him crawl with loose jeans, a yellow t-shirt,
and one blue sock. He heedfully pushes with
his hands, and with all his force gets to his
feet. Very attentively, he moves one foot in
front of the other, and an impeccably angelic
smile is plastered on his face. He stumbles

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and wobbles with every step, invariably
falling then getting back up again. His
adherence showing his determination to
reach the end of the room, like an athlete
striving for the finish line. He lets out an
extremely high pitched shrill in enlivenment.
As I watch my baby brother in admiration,
I realise that he is the only one who can
overthrow the darkness in my life, and
genuinely make me smile and cheerful on
the inside. Hes the blazing radiance of my
life and the stars in the dark sky.

continue to buy and replace our

smartphones, even though there are very
minor changes on the new editions. One of
the main brands that causes this, as anyone
can guess, is the trendy Apple products.
We are all different people with different
social standards and ways of socializing.
Some of us are on Facebook 24/7
documenting every problem run into during
the day. And many of us share our lives
visually through Instagram or Snapchat,
which there is nothing wrong with. But there
are also people who find regular email
enough to be social with their friends. And
why would those people need a
smartphone? What would they use the
iPhone 6 for?

Aiman Zaheer

Peer Pressure
(Speech)

and

Technology

Being honest to others and what you think of

them can be a virtue. But making people feel
bad about their gadgets, fashion choices or
even the decisions in their everyday life, can
hurt more than you think. So think twice
before you speak, before you make them try
to fit in.

Imagine walking into class while youre

listening to music with your old, buttoned,
Sony Erickson as you make your way down
to your seat. The classroom slowly starts
filling up with your classmates, each one of
them owning a smartphone. They start
facebooking, snap chatting or instagraming,
#school started. It doesnt really bother you
that you cant do that with your phone until
one of them looks down at you and says:
This is the twenty first century, not the
nineties. Such comments, in my opinion,
are whats causing technologys peer
pressure.

And if you take just one thing with you from

this speech, let it be this: a phone does not
define who you are. Because a brand of
phone, clothes or anything you possess
doesnt define you as you. Instead its your
thoughts and actions which make you the
special and unique person you are.
Victoria Jaded

I didnt have an iphone until this summer.

And to be honest, the fact that I only had my
old Sony Ericsson didnt bother me that
much. But there were people who didnt
make it easy for me. Comments like You
still dont have a smartphone? or I could
never survive - I would feel I was like living
in Stone Age started to irritate me more and
more, lowering my self-esteem. I started to
feel left out and desperately wanted a new
phone.

Find reasons to smile through the ups

and downs
I love roller coasters. Why? Because it tickles
in my tummy. It feels like all the butterflies,
that are in my stomach when Im nervous,
are jumping up and down dancing to the
music inside of me. Thank God, my
butterflies are not like those of others. Mine
are a bit different, just like I am. Others
butterflies have just a bit too much fun,
which results in them throwing up. If there

We as teenagers feel like we need to keep up

with the most modern technical gadgets.
And as technology continues to develop, we

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is a bump along the way, my butterflies
dont stop and get sick. They keep moving
forward. They have self-control, just like
myself. I like to believe that the butterflies
inside our stomachs reflect and mirror our
personality.

excited as myself if not more, even my

teachers supported me although my
absences over the past months had become
slightly insane because of all the
competitions. Now that Ive told you about
my life, it doesnt seem like Ive been a
fighter, more likely a receiver, as if I had
been served everything on a silver platter,
but the thing is, you dont know the story
behind my story.

My favorite kind of roller coasters are the

ones that flip upside down and go faster
than I can take a deep breath. But when I
think about it, it might be slightly impossible
to take a deep breath while flipping upside
down anyway. I like the ups of the roller
coasters but the downs are always the worst.
Youre trapped inside a metal cart, anxiously
waiting for what is ahead of you and there is
nothing you can do. When the seatbelt is
fastened and you hear the click, there is no
going back. You think getting on the
rollercoaster is a smart move, and who
knows maybe it is, but not for everybody.
Some take the jump and see that it was
worth the ride, while others end up falling
flat on their face. The thing is, you dont
know about the outcome until you try it. So
before judging people for failing, just
remember that they went out of their
comfort zone and tried. And for the record,
trying is worth so much more than giving
up.

The beginning of my life is the same in both

stories but there where the two stories go
each their way is after I got my first pony
Tarzan. After around a year with him, we
discovered internal bleeding in his neck and
that meant we had to sell him. Because of the
injury he could not control his own body,
which would put me in danger, and my
parents would never allow that. Shortly after
Tarzan was sold, I got a new pony, Bernie
The Blue Bunny. I loved him more than
words can describe but on a Monday, we got
a call from the vet saying Bernie had broken
part of his back and had to be put down the
following day. My world collapsed. I was
going to lose my best friend, and there was
nothing I could do about it. People say its
just a horse, but those who say that have
never owned a horse. Devastation was
running through my veins day and night,
and a constant tear was in my eyes, but then,
one day, I got the pony Adamstown Belle
that turned my world upside down. Belle is
the pony that took me to the European
Championship, and all she brought me was
joy. Horses are athletes, and athletes get
injured, and unfortunately Belle was no
exception. A few months before Belle got
injured my dad bought me a pony named
Canisha Jolie Margrethelyst and a horse
called Hermes, but nothing was working out
with them. I couldnt ride them and all we
accomplished was bad results, so when Belle
was out of the game, I felt like giving up. I
felt like a failure. I felt I wasnt good enough.
Everyday with Jolie and Hermes was a
struggle and nothing was as easy as with
Belle. But I had to put the negative thoughts
to the side and focus on moving forward. I

So what about me? Does that make me

quitter or a fighter? Like with everything in
life, people have different opinions of what
is right and wrong. Let me tell you a little
about myself and you can judge yourself. I
grew up with everything I could have ever
wished for. I would say a roof over my head,
but that would be an understatement
because it was so much more than just a
roof. I had all the food I needed, I was able to
travel around the world, I had the most
supporting parents and so much more.
When I turned nine years old, I got my first
pony, Tarzan. Over the following years my
riding escalated very quickly, and suddenly I
was getting my pony number eight and my
dream since I had started riding nine years
ago, going to the European Championship,
was coming true. My friends were just as

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kept trying to make things work with Jolie
and Hermes, and sometimes they did, but
the majority of the times they didnt. Finally,
after a six-month injury Belle was back in
business
and
competing.
Our
first
competition after the injury was the Danish
Championships, which we to our surprise
took gold. Suddenly, everything was going
my way; Belle was back and Hermes was
doing amazingly round after round. Exactly
three competitions after Belles injury, we
crashed and I broke my collarbone, another
obstacle I had to climb. Lets just end the
riding part of my life here because it
continues and there is still a lot stuff I have
not mentioned but at least you got a little
taster of what was behind all those years of
riding.

of certain factors, people that I thought were

my friends, didnt approve of the judges
decision, which lead to a big mess. That day
was very hard for me, not only were people
fighting and yelling at each other but my
closest friends turned on me and wouldnt as
much as speak to me. I was falling to pieces
and my friends who usually always had my
back were gone. This time they werent the
ones picking up the pieces, no, they were the
ones breaking and tearing me to pieces. I
thought to myself, if real friends would do
such stuff and came to the conclusion that
they would not. A few days later those
friends acted as if nothing had happened,
praising, cheering and hugging me. That was
when I completely lost it. I couldnt believe
how they one day could be the ones pulling
me down and the next day be standing right
beside me. I realised that I didnt want
people like that in my life. Actually, I didnt
need people like that in my life. Yes, Im very
grateful to have the friends I have today and
even the friends I dont have anymore.
Because of them, I have found my real
friends, the ones that will stay with me
forever and the ones that I always can trust.

Okay, lets start the next chapter in my life. I

told you before how supportive and excited
my friends were about my accomplishments
with my riding and thats no lie but what
you dont know is how I got those exact
friends. To get to these friends I had to pass
all the backstabbing, jealous and pure mean,
so-called friends. Dont get me wrong, not all
my friends from my childhood were like
this, maybe just one out of 20 was, but boy
how one sour apple can ruin the whole apple
pie. I have never been a bully victim but I
did meet them. The difference with me and
the other bully victims was that I reached a
point where it simply was too much. I took a
deep breath, stomped by foot in the ground,
march right over to the bully and gave them
a piece of my mind. Not literally of course
that would be disgusting. Sometimes I
managed to defeat the bullies on my own,
other times I needed help from my mother.
In the younger grades it was quite easy to
spot a bully but while growing up I
discovered how sneaky and devious the
bullies become. The bully was no longer the
one pushing the other children off the slide,
no, these bullies were the ones saying kind
words and hugging the other. Actually for
you to understand this let me give you an
example. Just a few months ago my team
won the Danish Championship but because

So what do you think now? Am I still just a

receiver and not a fighter? I can see how
some people still would say Im a receiver
but I think, given the life I have, I have
fought my battles. I do know others have
fought more but for me, as an individual, I
have fought the battles that were put in front
of me and I think Ive handled them pretty
well.
I love roller coasters. Why? Because I never
know what Im in for. I never know if Im
going to fall flat on my face and forced to
brush of the dust or if Im going to stand up
straight with a crown on my head. One thing
I know for sure is, that I will always get back
up on my feet if I fall and the ones standing
beside me will be right ones. Even though
you might not think the roller coaster was
worth the ride, just you wait and see it either
brings you higher up or makes you stronger
because remember, roller coasters are meant

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for joy and nothing less. So I promise you,
the roller coaster is always worth the ride,
just look at me, my life turned out pretty
perfect if you ask me despite the battles I
was forced to fight.

Now that I think of it, I might have been

better off eating my breakfast. After all, it
cannot be determined whether I ate less
because I didnt need energy to go about my
day, or that I was less energetic because
there wasnt enough food to provide the
energy. Had I been consistent with my
breakfast, I would have been much stronger
and in better shape to be involved in sports.
Still, I was not unfit in any sense. I had no
trouble running up and down five floors
using the staircase, and the ceilings at school
were higher than in most other buildings.
But this activity was unnecessary because its
only purpose was to prove that I was more
nimble than others in my class. I would
avoid it if I could, the same way I avoided
breakfast.

Kira Krogsgaard

The Condensed Essence of Breakfast

As a child, I often neglected the first meal of
the day. Waking up as late as possible was a
luxury that could not be sacrificed. This
often meant that I had little or no time to eat
a proper breakfast. I often went to school
having had only a glass of milk. And when I
did eat breakfast, it was when my mother
made pancakes, which, being my favourite, I
could hardly resist. At other times, she
would prepare butter and jam sandwiches
which would be eaten for breakfast, or
packed and taken to school to be eaten
during the break. I believed that this break
was called breakfast, even though it took
place at 10 oclock in the morning, and I was
never able to finish my food before the break
ended.

It is clear that I was missing something

when not eating my breakfast. Research has
shown
that
breakfast
helps
boost
concentration levels during the early hours
of the day. And it makes perfect sense
because the brain needs energy to think.
Without breakfast the brain must run on the
little energy that has been left over from the
previous day. This is also true for all the
other muscles and bodily functions. Some
say that breakfast helps reduce the risk of
heart disease and there are even claims to
breakfast reducing diabetes and obesity.
Even if that isnt true, it is unquestionable
that breakfast is an important meal and
shouldnt be skipped.

But this was not so drastic as it might

sound because I was never very hungry. My
ambition to use as little energy as possible
meant that I was not physically active, and
so didnt require much food. However, not
being hungry was not the reason I didnt eat
breakfast before leaving for school, or even
why I didnt eat while I was in school. The
reason was that it was too much of a bother.
It required a significant investment of time,
around 15 minutes, which I simply could not
justify. Sleeping in as late as possible was a
bigger priority than eating before leaving for
school, and while in school, talking to
friends, catching up on the events of the
previous day, and playing games inside the
school building was more important.
Sometimes, I even committed that time to
more productive activities like Origami or
drawing in my notebook.

Because it is so important, people go far

to ensure that breakfast is accessible. To
illustrate this, let us look at the breakfast
procedure in a hotel. Often, breakfast is
included in the cost of the room. Otherwise,
when it is not included in the price, one can
expect to pay 10 for a buffet. And the
spread might include coffee, milk, tea, juice,
yoghurt, cereals, bread, butter, marmalade,
bacon, eggs, sausages, pancakes, pastry, and
croissants. This variety is available not so
that people can experience new tastes by
trying a little bit of everything. These hotels

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do their best to serve people from all walks
of life, and so offer this assortment to make
every one of their customers comfortable.

informed it does not damage my health. And

every move I make from the time I get from
the couch to the time I put my cereal bowl
away is choreographed. The entire exercise
takes fifteen minutes and is one that I both
enjoy and look forward to as I wake up. I do
not dwell upon these daily rituals. I take
time to chew the food, but make everything
else as quick as possible. It is through such
simplicity that I find beauty. And I dont
ever have to worry about skipping my
breakfast.

It can also be interesting to observe

different attitudes of people towards
breakfast. There are those who neglect this
meal altogether. Then there are those who
take an hour just to eat. I sometimes wonder
whether it is because they have nothing to
do with their morning, or whether they
enjoy the meal so much. However, I find it
most interesting to watch those who return
from the buffet table with a few select items,
eat and drink until they are finished,
perhaps take a second helping, and then
leave, all within fifteen minutes. These
people do not rush their breakfast but only
take as much time as they need. If they stay
in the hotel for more than a couple of days,
they may or may not try a different
assortment of food the next day. They eat to
simply satisfy their stomachs hunger at the
beginning of the day.

Rachit Kumar

Why Some Boys Suck

Boys suck! Why you may ask? Well the
answer is pretty easy. They are immature,
disrespectful, egoistic and full of it. I would
use a swear word, but I dont think this
would be appropriate. The boys that I know
are clueless about their surroundings, and
what I mean is that you can never talk about
something smart and intellectual with them.
Also I dont think they have ever heard of
the word thank you or please. They
think that playing with a girls feelings is
some game.

This does not mean that the content of

the meal is irrelevant, nor its quality by way
of taste or health. These elements each have
their importance. But the essence of
breakfast lies in how efficiently it can be
completed. To be able to have the most
variety and quantity in the amount of time
available, you have to be as efficient as
possible in the eating process. To do this,
you have to have planned what you are
going to eat and made the necessary
preparations the night before. And while
eating, you should do just that: eat. On a
normal day, activities such as admiring the
curtains or sipping tea for half an hour
should be left out altogether. Doing it this
way reduces the temptation to begin the day
without breakfast.

Every time I talk with boys, I can feel my IQ

dropping. First its the subjects they talk
about. They talk about video games or they
sit on Facebook the whole time and talk
about what they see on the website, but
otherwise there isnt really anything else
they are interested in. I try to bring up a
subject we could talk about such as things
that are happening in the world, but either
they have never heard about something or
they dont feel like talking about it. Another
thing is the way they talk. Their language is
highly unsophisticated, they swear, and
laugh at stupid, offensive jokes. This really
irritates me because there is no way I can
have a conversation with them.

This morning, my breakfast consisted of

cereal with milk. The cereal of my choice is a
certain brand of chocolate muesli. It is this
same food that I eat every morning. I
sometimes have muesli with raisins instead
of chocolate. It tastes delicious, and I am

I swear, boys are either not raised properly

or they just have never heard of manners or

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discipline. You see, I am a feminist and I
believe in the equality between boys and
girls and to show some of the equality, I hold
doors for guys the way guys supposedly
hold doors for girls. The problem is that the
boys never say thank you to me when I do
hold the door. Its like they dont appreciate
the fact that I decide to hold the door for
them instead of opening it and be the first
one to go through. One time I held the door
for 10 people, three girls and seven boys.
Who said thank you? The three girls! All
seven boys just walked through the door and
didnt even glance at me. Its like I am some
doorman at a hotel opening doors for
people!

towards girls is okay and acceptable.

However they can easily hurt a girl without
having the slightest clue. One time there was
a boy who liked me or was interested in
me and to attract my attention, he would
make jokes or he would do stupid things.
That obviously was fine, but sometimes
there were moments when his jokes or the
way he acted were not funny anymore and
actually hurt my feelings. What I have
noticed about boys is that they dont know
when they cross the line. However, this is
not the end. Some boys play with girls the
same way a girl plays with dolls. They date a
girl for a long time but the moment they
begin to get bored with her they go on to the
next girl by cheating on their girlfriend.

Another problem boys have is with the word

please. Never in my life have I heard a boy
say the word please when asking for a
favour. One time, during math class, one of
the boys said to me, Hey, open the window.
Its really hot in here. Excuse me?! I was
angry because the way this boy demanded
and phrased his statement was extremely
and utterly rude and condescending. The
fact that he didnt use the word please was
so disrespectful because a person with
manners would say, can you open the
window, please? Its really hot in here. But
no, he had to be rude.

To conclude, I would like to say that not all

boys are like that. There are boys who are
the total opposite. Nonetheless, the vast
majority of boys I have met and had to deal
with, are immature, disrespectful, rude,
oblivious and hurtful. The boys I know dont
have social intelligence. Their lack of
manners towards simple things is very
shocking to people who expect them to have
at least some.
Boys are also heartless
creatures that dont realize how much they
can hurt a girl!
Anonymous

On top of everything, boys dont know what

feelings are. They think that the way they act

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Labyrinth

AWFUL

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AWFUL
Here is the awful category, a collection of some of

lacking proper grammar, failing to grasp the

the most cringe-worthy, sickness-inducing drivel

purpose of language, or discussing topics so

ever written. Within, you will find a variety of

embarrassing that they cannot be discussed in

poetry and prose that is either awfully written,

polite company.

First Prize
I Love you Dearly is a genius novel-opening showing one half of a conversation in which a person
tries to confess his love to a woman, but ultimately conjures up memories of her dad, who abandoned
her.
I love you dearly, much in the same way your father doesn't. Sorry, was it insensitive of me
to bring that up? Well anyway, I love you the way I love oxygen: I dont notice its there but
without it I would die. Wait, nevermind, that doesnt work, sorry. But I do love you a lot, Id
never abandon you like your dad did. Wait, Debra are you crying? Deb Im sorry, please stop,
I didnt mean it like that.
Mathilde Hjertholm-Nielsen

Second Prize
Constipation is a short piece written, again, to the prompt Awful Book Opening, and is a
colourful look at an ailment that has plagued us all at one point or another.
I havent pooped in four days. Should I be worried? Is this a thing? Constipation more like
devastation. I only ate that stuff as a conversation topic with my gym coach.
Google search: does kale stop a person from shitting?
Wiki answers: Kale is known for purging the body toxins.
Well shit, actually lack of shit.
Maya Romer & Julia Pedersen

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Third Prize
Joint Third Prize (Love and Womb of Death) are two equally awful poems. One is an attempt at a
Shakespearean love poem, which tries to imitate archaic language, while forgetting the grammar; the
other is a parody of the worst kind of would-be feminist poetry, using hyperbole and metaphors of
blood and carnage to discuss womanly bodily functions, and the concept of a woman's autonomy (or
lack of?) over her own body.
Love
Forthwith thou art mine loveth
my oneth and only
And fore whence we goeth out for luncheon
the sun of ye olde, thou shine so bright
but not as bright
as yon beautiful eyes
as my love for thou and
whence you are not neareth
my tears streameth from mine eyes
and my heart, it sinks
but when thou art neareth
I skip for joy
And feeleth so gayeth
for thee
mine love
Mats Brokvam

I nurture anarchy in my womb of death

I nurture anarchy in my womb of death
my seed of blood and carnage
that will blossom as brightly as the
crimson stains of menstruation
tainting them with the unwanted fluids
a reminder of my biology
of my uterus
shackled
by the barbed chains
of men
Daria Drenker

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Dishonourable Mentions
If I could think about something forever, itd be you.
You with your face and your body, yeah thats what I would think about.
Not that I only think about your body. Your body is great but like theres other stuff too.
Like youre really cool.
Not that I only think about your popularity. Your coolness is great but like theres other stuff
too.
Like your thoughts and personality and stuff.
Not that I wouldnt still care about you if you werent able to think. Would you want me to let
you die if your brain went to mush?
Not that I would want you to die.
Like if you want that then great but like theres not much to think about forever if youre
dead.
Sophie Earl
Coated
You wait
You hang on
you turn the pipes that rusted
along with the memories I've shared
with you
bleed, bleed, bleed
is all I do and say
for the distinctive look that reprints
upon these used up sheets
am I holding onto hope
a flick of a cigarette
a cold wind
or is this purgatory of thy heart
you ask to talk to me again
and i say
'for the last bloody time, I'm not the father, it was probably the mailman'
Oliver Jensen

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Love is a feeling
Love is a feeling
No one can resist
But I only slept with you
because I was pissed
Three months later
You got down on your knees
You presented me with a ring
And said pretty please
No words can describe,
How I felt that day
Except for the burning desire
To quickly run away
Funny, intelligent
and incredibly hot
those are just some of the things
that you were not
I am now your darling, your woman
your beautiful wife
but marrying you has seriously
Screwed up my life
Katrine Jensen

Waste
On the topic of Consumerism, A terrible poem
Plastic confetti, from plastic formed,
Converted by the sun to
Smaller chunks, to confetti transformed.
Marine life choking hazard!

Paper, Plastic Confetti, Concrete

Stuff designed for disposal.
Garbage collectors are discontent.
What next? Any proposal?

Concrete is cement and coarse sand

Cement is ground metal paste
Construction waste blanketing us and
Dust around, not toxic waste

Paper and construction waste are now

60% of our waste.
Plastic confetti in the oceans.
Great patch of plastic waste.

Mohit Kumar

Paper is from wood and cloth pulp made.

Returning to pulp when wet,
Recyclable, but its still decayed.
Most of our waste is this yet.

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I had ordered the washing machine to wash my brown pants that in sunlight becomes green
but when I opened the door there still was the ice cream stains from the ice cream I had at the
fair yesterday.
Kira Krogsgard

I remember the first time I was probed by those martians; it was right after they landed in my
back yard and shot me with their plasma guns. I was so friggin scared. The whole thing was
so alien, quite literally. But anyway, now that Ive been probed dozens of time, Ive started to
quite enjoy it. Which brings me to my next point
Mathilde Hjertholm-Nielsen

Ring ring goes my alarm clock and no no goes my head. You know that feeling, waking up in
the morning, such a bummer right? Its as if waking up is the spinach and Im the little kid
trying to avoid it.
Mathilde Hjertholm-Nielsen

I am so sick of this generation, Barbara. So goddamn entitled. And they're always on their
phones, beeping and bopping. Yes we were the ones who invented the mobile phone, but this
whole itelephone is taking it
far, you heard me Barb? They act as if we ruined the world when all we did was ruin the
economy.
Mathilde Hjertholm-Nielsen

Poem
I went for a walk
To have a talk
And a little jog
I saw a lonely dog
He looked at me
And took a pee
Kira Krogsgard

I love you with all of my heart

I love you with all of my heart
to the moon and back
and all of that
Katrine Baelum

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Brush-lessness
A terrible poem
Strange shouts and screams
Wolf howls and Cryin
Run through the dreams
Of those who live in
Round-dole, it seems.
A boy who lost his toy
had caused all of this.
Though none of us know
Where he now lives.
His voice went through the valley,
through every house in every alley,
both day and night for a whole week
Until his fathers advice he did seek
He stopped his crying and had some water
But, alas, he tumbled over!
I tried to comfort his parents
But I only made them feel lower.
They tried to get him back to life.
They tried with water to quench his thirst,
which had come from all that crying,
But it fell on his head at first.
He opened his eyes and sat up straight
For in his thirst he had only fainted.
He never cried and never screamed
But instead he only tumbled over
His is quite careless
And may soon be brush-less
So you see thats our only fear
That the memory of his thirst may tear
Strange shouts and screams
Wolf howls and Cryin
Run through the dreams
Of those who live in
Round-dole, it seems.
Mohit Kumar

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Tunnels
In tunnels dark and deep,
My peace I cannot keep.
I feel a Heavy weight,
when I, my foodjust ate.
I do not like the dark,
Just like Im in a shark.
I prefer to look out
At the trees and about
But it soon goes away.
The train goes to the bay.
And it wanders away
But not for long to stay.
It soon comes back again
From the wide open Plain
It comes back into the
Dark Scary tunnel Ugh!
Mohit Kumar
Drama
I made it in time for school
the teacher wont be so cruel
the test has been cancelled.
That is not to be handled
I have a fun-filled class
We slide along the floor
Right through the door
The teacher let us in
But nearly into the bin
We had to sit and listen
And act out 'stars glisten'
The class soon ended
The break soon started!
Mohit Kumar

My alter-ego (shasta-fierce) is Poe

My alter-ego (shasta-fierce) is Poe
Thats why they are all named poe at the end of each line.
Have fun reading my autobiography
maybe i should come back when i can write some fiction,
then maybe youll take a look
and post it in this bloody, painful book..
Yulia Davey

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Piping hot, straight from the oven

Still boiling with moistness
Lightly salted, slightly peppered
More than enough for a dozen
Juicy, full of flavor
Just like grandma used to cook
Slow roasted to perfection,
It will soon be my screen savor
Leg, wing, and breast
A taste you never could have guessed
Luisa Dickson
Snow
Fluffy coatings of white
Picked up by the scoopful with cupped hands
Forwith to be packed into a 3 dimensional circle
Then chucked
Like a javelin
Though a small and round white one
Into the body of your foe
Alas to break and return to snow.
Trent Olsen

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The Foxes Error
A terrible short story written by Mohit Kumar
Foxes, as you know, are normally reddishbrown animals who make strange howling
and screeching noises at night. They are
animals of prey and can remain invisibly to
their prey until they are ready to strike.
Some of them can be extremely
adventurous and try to prey in fields in
broad daylight, while most of them prefer
not to. Billy was the second type of fox. He
always did things the way foxes had been
doing for centuries. He would stay in the
safety of the woods during daytime and
hunt only at night. Life was good for the
great fox colonies in those days.

His pack seemed to be moving towards the

farmland in the middle of the day. This
was unacceptable! What would his
ancestors think? Perhaps the pack was only
trying to go away from the fire but
intending to remain in the woods. He
continued following them.
They were getting dangerously close to the
edge of the woods. Billy fell to the back of
the pack. Soon they were on the very edge
and coming up to the low fence. All but
one of the foxes jumped over that fence; All
but Billy. For you see, Billy was a very
stubborn fox. The fire was getting closer
and closer to him. It seemed to be eating
away at the whole forest with it infernal
heat. He was beginning to feel extremely
warm again. He decided to jump to the
only place in the woods where the fire had
not been able to consume anything, the
only place he felt safe: the stream. His hind
legs and tail disappeared from sight with a
splash of water. Billy the fox was never
sighted in those woods, or anywhere else,
again.

But one day, Billy awoke in the middle of

the day feeling abnormally warm. He
heard the sound of paws scrambling in the
woods and frantic whirring of hundreds of
pairs of wings. These sound were not
happy or excited like they normally are.
The noises were ones of despair and
sorrow. He noticed that the heat was
steadily increasing. Then he heard it.
It was a crackling sound, like twigs being
constantly broken. It was from the
direction of the sound that the warmth
came. The paws and wings sounded as if
they were moving away from the now
intense heat. He opened his eyes and saw
for the very first time, and probably the
last time, in his life, fire.

A few of the very tallest oaks, though

terribly damaged, had managed to survive
the fire. These helped to nurture the forest
in the fertile land left behind by the fire. A
mysterious predator roamed the woods.
Red fur, as quick as lightning, jumped onto
unfortunate animals. Until one day, many
years after the fire, it ceased. As for the
Foxes of the great colonies, they were
neither ever seen nor ever heard of in those
regions again.

You and I know how dangerous fire can

be, especially to furry and feathered
creatures. Billy, however, did not. He did
not want to leave his home like the rest of
the foxes, but he had no choice. The fire
was singeing his fine fur coat, burning his
tail, making him very thirsty and generally
being a bothersome nuisance. Billy
followed his pack away from the fire, after
a refreshing dip and a quick drink from the
forest stream of course.

Mohit Kumar

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